


Lovers in Reverse

by Cymbelines



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Post-Finale, Rimming, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, and sharing victims nbd, blood mention cw, feat. will's fluid sexuality, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbelines/pseuds/Cymbelines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The Greeks believed that the dead retained no memory of their previous selves,” Hannibal told him, “upon entering Hades, all that was once known was forever rendered to the dust. But Homer wrote that Odysseus found Achilles and his Patroclus united, defiant of divine order even onto death. ”</p><p>“A bond so intimate that they couldn't suffer death apart,” Will replied. “Is that what we are?”</p><p>Post-Finale. With Chiyoh's help, Hannbal and Will survive their fall and go into hiding together. As they slowly regain their strength, the pair are forced to address the unspoken darkness- the fear, resentment, the unbridled longing- that gnaws between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Lovers in Reverse**

 

 

 

 

> “These violent delights have violent ends/And in their triumph die, like fire and powder/Which, as they kiss, consume” – William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_

The first thing Will Graham remembered, upon dozing out of a deadly sleep, was the sheer violence of the ocean’s bite. He thought on the sticky heat of blood on his skin, the sharp agony in his cheek, the tension and relief of falling over the edge of the bluff. The water below- the _pain_ of the breaking through the water’s surface was unlike anything he, a walking mosaic of scars, had experienced before. Will thought of the pain, the cold, the frenzied thrashing of his arms against Hannibal’s own and-

The second thought, infinitely more important and infinitely more terrible: _Hannibal_.

Panic bubbled up in his chest. Finding himself unable to move, his head dizzy and his body numb, Will tried desperately to make out his surroundings. The room was dark, the air cold and damp. The surface beneath him was too hard to be a bed- a table, perhaps, or some sort of makeshift gurney. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Will could make out a slumped form laying across from him: Hannibal’s unmistakable shape. Will’s stomach churned with mixed horror and relief. They had survived. They had, the two of them, survived.

“You’re awake,” Hannibal rasped, voice hoarse and broken. “I was beginning to suspect you’d died.”

Before Will could respond, a fresh taste of copper filled his mouth. Speaking wasaggravating his wounds, pain breaking through what he now recognized to be an aesthetic-induced numbness.

“No,” Hannibal continued. “No, you are as alive as I am. Fate, it seems, has superseded you once again, Will.”

“H-how did we-“ Will stammered, feeling blood pool in his mouth. Words were precious now and few. He thought on Abigail suddenly, and how he had carried her phantom with him for so long. “Are you _real_?”

Through the darkness, only silence and the rise and fall of Hannibal’s breathing form so subtle, so soft that it could barely register to Will's sight. The question, Will realized, was a waste of effort and suffering- no answer would come.

Will tried, with his last bout of strength, to reach out for Hannibal- to stretch his arm across the space between them and touch him again like he had done on the ledge. But his strength failed him, his limbs heavier than lead, and the scant light grew dim. Everything tossed and heaved to, melting into a dizzy haze.

Later, Will would learn that Chiyoh’s boat knew the tidal waves like a shark does and she, too, could follow the scent of blood through dark waters.

* * *

 

Will’s coherency was fragmented by a high fever. He couldn’t remember the path to Chiyoh’s home or how she managed to carry him there, but he recognized the sanctuary she was offering them both nonetheless. She, in her curt and vigilant manner, extended them every mercy: anesthetics, a warm bed, the promise of food and drink. Chiyoh had even been as wise as to keep Hannibal and Will united, her courtesy seemingly knowing no bounds. But, Will understood that his young savior was not acting out of any particular compassion for him- she ran needle and thread through the gnashes on his skin with practiced and unemotional precision. Chiyoh wasn't a caretaker, she a wartime doctor of sorts, long desensitized to the carnage of war.

There was a shift, however small, when she looked onto Hannibal’s wounds. A slight softening in her touch, a subtle sharpening in her demeanor- an expression that spoke of reverence and duty and something darker, something harder to name.

Hours later, Hannibal sat silently besides Will in the bed they now shared. The older man sat half-dressed, the bandaging around his bare stomach stained with the damp color of fresh blood. Turned away from Will, Hannibal looked beyond the wall-length window glass of their bedroom and onto the dawning sky. Will felt a knot in his throat, a flittering in his chest- it would be so easy now, he knew, for Hannibal to kill him. Even broken and bloody, all it would take would be a swift twist of the neck and he'd be gone. 

“How can I survive your anger with me?" Will asked, his voice rusted by drowsiness and injury. Even to his own ears, the question sounded weak and nearly irritating in its vulnerability. "If the prospect of surviving, that is, is something I should even be humoring as a possibility."

"I don't intend to kill you, Will," Hannibal said. In Will's mind, Hannibal's age was rarely a thought but suddenly then the man sounded infinitely older and unbelievably exhausted. The low strain of Hannibal's voice felt wholly foreign to Will, who sometimes feared that his own thoughts came in the timber of Hannibal's steady intonation. In Will's memories, his nightmares, his flights of what if's, Hannibal never sounded like this- human, vulnerable, and far-off. It troubled Will far more than he cared to admit. 

“Are you angry with what I felt I had to do?

Hannibal debilitated on his answer, still turned away. “No, Will.”

“Are you disappointed, then?” Will prodded further. _Look at me,_ he silently pleaded. Let _me see you again_.

“You often surprise me, Will, and that is, at the very least, a tremendous feat. Whatever snares I lay out before you, it seems I can never entirely predict where you’ll fall,” Hannibal said. “More importantly, it seems you have taken care to do a good deal of ensnaring yourself.”

Hannibal turned to him then, patiently looking Will over, his eyes lingering over the fresh stitches along Will’s cheek. “Death has never frightened me,” he assured the younger man. “Even as a child, I found the prospect of death alluring. The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, or so it goes. I would have been happy to experience death with you, Will.”

It was now Will’s turn to avert his focus. Hannibal had an impossible knack of giving buried thoughts fresh life, speaking the things Will was too unwilling to voice aloud as if he could peer into the very depths of Will’s being and pull from the inside out. He didn't want to admit it, but Will, too, had felt their story had been completed. The plunge over the bluff was part desperate deliberation and part ecstasy, too- pleasure in knowing Hannibal would die by his hand after all. Pleasure in knowing, more than that, that Will would have died with him. That pleasure had been robbed of them both and now there was this- the consequences of his wraths and the ambiguity of what remained between them. Death would've been easier. Living, Will Graham knew, would be infinitely harder. 

"The Greeks believed that the dead retained no memory of their previous selves," Hannibal told him, as if reading Will's mind. "Upon entering Hades, all that was once known was forever rendered to the dust. But Homer wrote that Odysseus found Achilles and his Patroclus united, defiant of divine order even onto death. ”

“A bond so intimate that they could not suffer death apart,” Will replied, swallowing against a knot in his throat. “Is that what we are?”

“I believe you answered that question when you who pulled us over the precipice," Hannibal replied, his voice rounded with honesty. "The question remains in the aftermath. You were willing to die with me, Will, but that has been usurped from you. I'm curious as to where your intentions run now. Do you intend to take my life again, Will, or your own?"

“I don't know if I can answer that anymore honestly than you can. Violence seems to be the only thing either of us understand."

"There's an alternative," Hannibal suggested. He shifted where he sat, wincing at a sharp pang of pain. "We fixed our canon against the Great Red Dragon, Will. You have wet your feet in the waters of your becoming. The possibilities beyond us- not against one another in violence, but directing it outwards instead-"

"You want me to kill with you again," Will interrupted. He read Hannibal's body- a touch of annoyance at the interruption, uncharacteristic of the man who tolerated Will to the point of taking a bullet for him. _It must be the pain_ , Will inwardly noted. _Walking on thinning ice_. "Is that the prerequisite to living with you?"

"You know what I want most for you, Will. Hunting is a shared desire between us both- it was shared, too, with the child we could have shared. Between us both is a shared understanding that your becoming was ephemerally beautiful."

"There was-” Will swallowed, circling over something intimate and sharp. “There was urgency in my decision to push us over the edge. Yes, it was-" Will felt the knot tighten in his throat, his stomach jolt with nausea. "Yes, it was _beautiful_. But there was self-distraught, I think, at the knowledge that killing felt- vivid, somehow. I had never responded to blood more than when it was spilling down my own hands. It wasn't like Garret Jacob-Hobbs. It wasn't what I imagined killing Freddie would be like. It wasn't like Frederic, either. Killing Dolaryhyde was electric in a way I’ve never experienced before."

Hannibal turned, now, the mattress creaking beneath him. Will, for all his disparity, turned his gaze down. "You were blind and now you see," he said and Will could _hear_ the satisfaction dripping in his voice.   
  
Will took a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "But, more than that, there was you- the feeling that I had acted completely in extension of you when I stood against the Dragon. Goddamn it, Hannibal, I didn't even know where you ended or where I began, I just- I don’t know if I can tell where these lines measure up to even now. I only know that I- I couldn’t just kill you, Hannibal. I couldn’t even watch you die. It had to be both of us. Us, together, or I'd have nothing at all.”

In that moment, Will clawed at his courage and raised his gaze to meet Hannibal’s, to look him in the eye and risk spilling forward with truths that had, for years now, been threatening to smother him. But when Will had finally turned his eyes upwards, Hannibal had already turned away again, the purple light of dawn now illuminating the line of his shoulders, his back, his bared and violently bruised neck.  
  
"Us, together," Hannibal repeated, tasting the words in his mouth. "Us, together, or nothing at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, perhaps obviously, my first Hannibal fanfiction. Please, if you can, give me some feedback! Kudos or comments or what have you, so that I know I'm at least tripping in the right direction. Thanks for reading, gang. (BTW, you can find me on tumblr: Marsza)


	2. Chapter 2

**Lovers in Reverse**  
—

Throughout his recovery, Will Graham began to learn a great deal about Chiyoh. He learned that she’s maintained a tremendous sense of humor, dry and subtle though it may have been. He learned that she, while no Hannibal Lecter in the kitchen for _various_ reasons, was a phenomenal cook. He learned, too, that she loved Hannibal’s aunt, Lady Murasaki, with a ferocious passion, the sort of unwavering devotion fit for poetry. A dedication, she seemed to think, Will understood. She told him so on a Tuesday afternoon when Hannibal had locked himself away in the study, the faint sound of a harpsichord sounding through the house's empty spaces.

“You lied when you told me he was your _nakama_ ,” she said, skinning a potato and leaning against the kitchen counter. “I did not think you would be dishonest even in that, Will.”

Will frowned at her. He caught a fleeting glimpse of his reflection in the pristine glimmer of her knife- the skin along his face marked swollen and red. Bitterness filled his mouth. “I never lied to you," he said, "I was retracing old images of Hannibal, then, going to places and people he hadn't seen in years. I only told you as much truth as I had uncovered for myself, however shrouded from me the truth might have been." 

Chiyoh considered him for a moment before turning her attention to the next potato, blade sinking in beneath earthy skin. “You two are friends the way a deep laceration is only an incision- only vaguely, only if you want to immensely understate the truth of things.”

“There’s bleeding involved, regardless,” Will retorted.

"People seldom bleed themselves dry for the sake of a friend. You are accustomed to violence, aren't you? When a woman dies, who do you look onto first? t is, more often than not, the ones who have seen us absolutely bared that we resolve to strike against in the most diabolical ways."

"Great acts of violence take great measures of empathy, you mean."

"Yes," Chiyoh said, her lips turning up in the ghost of a smile, "and you have repeatedly attempted to kill the subject of your empathy."

"He started it," Will said with sardonic humor, leaving Chiyoh to her pots and fire. 

“I told you once about influence, Will,” Chiyoh told him then, halting his stride to the doorway. “Violence took you over the cliff’s edge and unto this new life. Have you ever wondered what other means of influence would have given you?”

* * *

 

Will changed out of his clothing, careful to mind his injuries as he undressed. Lost in thought, he scowled- She was right, of course. It was nearly laughable how right she was. Hannibal and Will had crossed the social boundaries of friendship a long time ago, Will knew that, but they were steadily becoming something more. They had sauntered into a casual intimacy, sharing laughter, spaces, and stories, before Will had even realized how or when it happened in the first place.

Padding across the carpeted floor, Will reached for his pajamas and swiftly changed, careful to hurry before anyone unexpectedly opened the unlocked bedroom door. Perhaps he could excuse any growing attachment to Hannibal with practicality- they had undergone a serious trauma together, after all, and being in proximity to one another brought comfort. What could’ve been their dying moments were spent clinging onto each other, their hands tight over the other with an iron grip. They had nearly lost each other, too- Will to a high fever, Hannibal to blood loss and injury. Throughout the two days they spent almost entirely unconscious, hazy moments of awareness were filled with anxiety: was the other alive? Where is he? _How can I know- do you know, Chiyoh, that he’s still breathing, show me_ -

No, Will thought to himself, that would be desperate dishonesty. They were codependent, totally intertwined and shamelessly unsettled without the other. Whatever distance Will had allowed in the three years Hannibal spent in prison was a thing of the past. They had meals together, woke together. Will had seen Hannibal in glimpses of casual intimacy, had seen his bare body, his face rested with sleep, his almost endearing yawns in the morning hour. The devil himself, it seemed, was all-together too human to resist. 

Could Will blame Chiyoh? He gave the thought some consideration. She, in frustration or superstition, seemed to believe that any attempt at separating Hannibal and Will from the other would be a waste of effort  - they would heal better and faster, she told them, together. So they slept in a shared bed, sheets stained with mingled blood. Chiyoh tended to their wounds together before teaching Will how to mimic her medicine work. They shared meals, spoke almost exclusively to one another, explored every corner of Chiyoh's home together, united in curiosity and boredom. 

_Together_ , Will remembered saying in a half-delirious state. _A life together with Hannibal or nothing at all._  


A knock sounded at bedroom the door, jolting Will from his thoughts. "May I come in?" Hannibal's voice rang out from behind the door.

 

"Go ahead," he said calmly. The door opened to reveal Hannibal, freshly showered and already dressed for bed. His hair was still damp, his face still fresh, and the smell of soap still lingered about him, pervasive on his skin. "Did Chiyoh already call out for the night?"

"Yes," Hannibal agreed softly, walking into the room delicately. This was their routine now- Hannibal had been the first between them to recover and, while perfectly able to sleep elsewhere if he so wanted, still returned to Will nightly, cautiously entering their room as if he were intruding, looking unto the bed and then to Will Graham as if awaiting invitation. And Will, in turn, offered what little he could- he would force conversation while setting the bed for two places as if to undermine the expectation that came with laying two pillows on the bed. He would talk about the prospect of fishing or going into the nearby town while peeling back the covers and burrowing expectantly inside. 

Will returned to his shirt, fingers fastened around the buttons of his shirt. "Chiyoh tells me the fish market in this town is highly acclaimed. They rarely outsource their products and, by consequence, almost everything sold on this isle has been locally gamed. I'll prepare dinner tomorrow night with whatever she finds there in the morning. I thought, too, that perhaps she would find something that would be particularly interesting for you- a town known for its seafood must have a lot in the ways of fishing equipment."

Will looked to Hannibal at the suggestion, surprised to find Hannibal's focus directed to his scarcely bared chest before his eyes quickly met Will's gaze. Hannibal offered him a smile. "I can't pretend to be an expert on fishing as a practice. Perhaps you should speak to her instead and we can arrange ourselves from there."

"We're in hiding," Will reminded him with a wry look of incredulity. "I hardly think the locals would take to the sight of me."

"We're off the coast of Scotland, Will," Hannibal said. "Most in this town aren't particularly aware of the local crises of the United States." 

"I found you in Florence and, to my surprise, you already had made a name for yourself there- had killed one of the major figures of their polizia. You've garnered international appeal, I think. We both have, if Freddie has had any say in the matter."

Hannibal's smile didn't falter, but Will recognized a touch of resentment at the mention of Freddie's name. He took a seat on their bed, tending absentmindedly to his pillow. "Yes," he acknowledged, "Miss Lounds is most likely making her money's worth detailing the grandiose, macabre wedding we must be having. You and I have, if I remember correctly, been deemed 'murder husbands' in her eyes- I don't imagine that was easy for you to explain to others."

Will laughed, his eyes darting to the bed and then onto the floor in swift embarrassment. Wether Hannibal was alluding to Alana, Jack Crawfrod or Molly, he was clearly unwilling to disclose it. In any case, the answer was unanimous: the term was ignored. The depths of Will's relationship with Hannibal had been an unspoken taboo in his home. Like the box he kept full of Hannibal's letters, their past together was an uncomfortably open secret from Molly. She knew, of course- she had to know. But she never crossed Will's lines, loving him in the spaces he provided her. It was that graciousness of hers that inspired Will's genuine appreciation for her.

He felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of her and, in a rash need to escape her memory, sat by Hannibal's side. The older man considered him in silence, his eyes traveling languidly over Will's form and Will, in turn, decidedly looked away. Hannibal, then, looked down at the scant space between them, appreciating the otherworldliness of their situation in full. The younger man was suffering inwardly, that much was clear- but he was drawn close to him. Will was close enough to touch, near enough to hold. Hannibal bit his tongue. Could he have imagined that this would come of their escape together? Not entirely. He fantasized about it, of course. Spent his three years wandering through the mazes of his mind, exploring the rooms of his memory palace to dream up a reality where he and Will had shared _everything_. Reality was sweeter, more curious- he looked to the delicate skirting of their intimate but unaddressed relationship and felt himself torn between to desires: to nurture it and let it grow or, instead, to destroy it- destroy Will- and see what exactly their bond was made of. Hannibal swallowed his contemplation, opting to speak. 

"I can't go to sleep without returning to something you said, Will," Hannibal started. "Are you worried about what you'll look like once your wounds heal?"

"You mean my face?"

"Not exclusively," Hannibal said. "But if that is where your first thought goes to, I imagine you're preoccupied with what was done to your face, especially."

"I nearly got my face hacked off," Will retorted defensively. "For the second time, mind you. I think a gnash that deep is owed a bit of preoccupation."

"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past is real," Hannibal spoke, his demeanor gentled by a moment of pure admiration.

"So, I'm supposed to be grateful that I've been cut into more times than I care to count."

Hannibal motioned towards him then, raising a hand in order to touch Will's face until the younger man instinctually flinched away. To Will's genuine surprise, pained disappointment colored Hannibal's expression before the older man recovered and, saving face, veiled his emotions away. Will felt his face burn with embarrassment, inexplicably ashamed of his own prickliness. "You're not marred by your scars, dear Will. I hope you'll come to find strength in baring your markings proudly."

"Is that what you genuinely want from me?" Will asked, voice soft as a tremor.

Hannibal deliberated before answering and Will, knowing him intimately, watched the man measure his answer. Honesty would allow for vulnerability on Hannibal's part and the prospect excited him- a moment of truth would, perhaps, ease the tension between them. Perhaps the man wanted nothing more than to end his life. The prospect scared him. Perhaps, instead, Hannibal wanted Will to willfully share his life with him, instead. Will thought on that session with Bedelia and the rushing wave of emotion that struck him at the confirmation that Hannibal was in love with him. So swept in the complications of that truth, Will had little time and lesser courage to address the reciprocal question: Did he love Hannibal in return? And, if so, what would loving Hannibal mean? This idea frightened Will infinitely more than the prior. Death was so easy, Will knew, the challenge came in choosing life. 

"I want many things," Hannibal finally began, speaking as though he were wadding through a new language. "I cannot explain each of my desires in length. In some measure, I learn from you daily. In my life, I have never relied on anything beyond what I can take and control and store away within myself. You are the exception to this. I remember my sister, my childhood, the years I spent in study, saving lives and, later, molding them. Or destroying them, too. When I choose to, I visit the places and people I covet most in the rooms of my memory palace and that is suffice. I have fragmented my life into glimpses that will remain suspended, timeless, within me. Fresh and delectable as the moment I first experienced them. But, you- nothing I can fabricate replaces the nourishment of seeing and being seen by you. I cannot tell you what I want, my dear Will, in fear of driving you away. You understand, don't you? I've frightened you in the past. I've made you face the depths within yourself that you painstakingly trained yourself to deny. I cannot tell you what I want from you but I can tell you this, I think- I want you to look at your scars and finds power in them. I want you to find power in knowing that it was I who gave you the best of them."

Will felt the breath knocked out of him and, before the gears in his mind had even begun to move in order for him to form some sort of reply, Hannibal turned away. An act of courtesy on his end, doubled by the disance he deliberately made between them. They would share a bed but Hannibal, despite his confessions, would not touch Will, would not hold him, would not take advantaged of fogged boundaries. 

The light of their room had been turned off and Will, in the darkness, clambered to his side of the mattress. In awkard silence, he tucked himself under the weight of their blankets and clamped his eyes shut. Hannibal and Will hadn't once returned to the subject of Francis' death or Will's plunging them over the bluff again. They hadn't spoken on Molly or Alana and had only hinted at Jack and their past together in small gestures, in talk of fine china and old mugs and rooms that once held witness to their therapeutic conversations. Tonight, their bed was warm and their room was dark. After what felt like a small eternity, Will turned just enough to catch a glimpse of Hannibal, his body still turned away from him and towards, instead, the tall glass expanse of window and night-sky. Will studied him- the length of Hannibal's hair, somehow longer already and skimming over the base of his neck. The wide run of his shoulders, the solidity of his form. Will thought on the secret glances he’d made towards Hannibal whenever Chiyoh would help him freshly bandage his wounds: the muscle of Hannibal’s legs, the hair on his chest, the shape of his hips culminating to a dark line of hair on his stomach that led down, interrupted, to the hem of his pants.

Will had never so much as given a man a second glance but now, impossibly, he found himself sharing his bed with one. Sharing his bed and desperate to know his desires and _waiting,_ too, for their climax; holding a breath he didn’t know he had stunted in the first place, hoping for something he wasn’t quite ready to define. Through the darkness, Will wondered if Hannibal was truly sleeping or if, instead, he was playing the part. He wondered, too, what Hannibal was thinking and, more than anything, what he was waiting for.

Will wanted to ask him. He wanted to reach out and touch the older man’s neck and watch him jolt in uncharacteristic surprise. Will wanted to turn the man over and demand to know when he’d be devoured and how. He wanted to shout at him, shake him, hurt him for bewitching Will in a way that made him so desperate to be consumed.

But if Will were only to reach across the expanse between them and touch Hannibal, he knew he’d never be able to go back. All the half-buried hunger would bubble to the surface and spill forward and burn. Hannibal’s skin, his mouth, the low run of his voice. Will would want all of it, would be smothered by the need to touch and be touched in return. Frightened and ashamed, Will turned away from Hannibal and closed his eyes, inching ever closer to the farthest edge of the bed.

* * *

 

Chiyoh’s words found their way into Will’s dreams. In his sleep, he heard something like a voice mumbling his name- familiar, low, a curious pronunciation that was wholly unique to one person alone- but it must have been a hay fever, a blurring wish of the unconscious mind. _Will_ , the voice said, growing desperate, _Will_ , _my_   _Will_ -

Will woke up with a jolt, seething as if blazing from within. The room was still pitch darkness, the world still and quiet, despite the panicked stammering of Will's heart beating in his chest. 

Will rushed into the bathroom with a stumble. He let the shower run until the mirrors fogged over with steam and then he stripped himself bare, as if disrobing himself of his dreams. His mind whirred with the fading images- Molly’s face shrouded by shadow and injury, Francis’ broken body on the scarlet floor, and then a vision of Hannibal. Will felt a rush of embarrassment flood over him as he battled against the desire to relieve the growing discomfort between his legs. How the dream started so easily- so sweetly, with Molly's smile and her hands around Will's neck, her nails running down his back, until it morphed into something petrifying. Until the horror of his nightmares turned yet again, desire running cyclic and settling on Hannibal, instead. God, how he had loved Molly. God, how he loved her still, but in his dreams it was this man he saw, instead- this man who had taken so much from him, this man who had scarred him, had bent him in and our of shape, this man who said his name like some holy sacrament now drawing him into an imagined intimacy.

Will bit down on his lip, mortified but too desperate to resist the need to take himself, stiff and aching, in hand. No one would have to know, a voice whispered faintly, no one would have to know about the dreams or the hungry hurriedness in how Will jacked himself to the point of relief. No one would have to know what dark sights filled his mind’s eye, glimpses from a dream now losing its color- flash images of Hannibal’s mouth over Will’s neck, his teeth sinking in to bite deeper. Will’s hands around Hannibal’s throat, too, or pulling Hannibal’s face up so that their mouths could meet and Will could drink him deep and desperate.

Under the spay of the water, Will swallowed a sob, spilling into his hand with the taste of Hannibal’s name on his tongue. —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and the visits so far. I had a clear idea of where I wanted this piece to go and its swiftly working outside of my control. That's always fun. I think part of writing this is experimenting with a world and a fandom I've never dabbled into before. So if this is pretty trashy so far, bear with me. I'll get better at writing these murder husbands some day. Experimentation is part of the process, yeah? Feedback, as always, is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

The study was cold from the midnight hour, the growing chill steeping in from the windows and raising goose-bumps from Will’s skin, still cool from having bathed. Days had passed since then but, since that first time in the shower, sleeping had become a complicated affair. _Leave it to Hannibal_ , Will thought snidely, _to make an already terrible condition worse_.

Will was no stranger to night terrors and insomnia, but now his dreams ran like a broken record, circling and scratching over the same hiccupping grove. Every night, he dreamt of recreating Hannibal’s crimes. His sleep was now haunted with visions of Abel Gideon, Miriam Lass, Abigail Hobbs, Beverly Katz, and the nameless masses that simmered in Hannibal’s kitchen. In his dreams, Hannibal stood adjacent by his side watching Will work, touching him, gleaming at him with a look of pure adoration. _See?_ , the vision of Hannibal would murmur against his neck, _See? Do you see? This is all I ever wanted-_

Partners, the dreams surmised, united by the shared desire to destroy: partners in life and in death. Partners, too, in dreams of a totally different nature: dreams that swirled in his mind like smoke, reminiscent of a desire to touch and consume and swallow down every labored breath and run of skin Will could find. Without fail, Will would wake from the discomfort and, nerves running electric, peer over his shoulder to find Hannibal sleeping and turned away. It was almost routine now- wake up, run to the showe, bite down on his knuckle and hold his breath until relief came under the spray of the showerhead. Returning to bed made his stomach churn and his skin run hot. He’d seek solace, instead, in distance. He’d smuggle himself away, instead, into the kitchen or the study, in any nook or cranny of the small house he could find. And when Chiyoh or Hannibal emerged from their rooms to greet the new day, Will would stifle any exhaustion and play his part.

God, Will hated himself for it but _those_ were the dreams that most frightened him- not the ones laced with death, but the ones drenched in ambiguous hunger. Those were the dreams that were driving him out of bed for two weeks now. What he had once wanted so equivocally- to be anchored to Hannibal, the last remnant of his old life, for the sheer sake of comfort- now terrified him for the wrong reasons. No, Will corrected to himself, perhaps not the wrong reasons but the stupidest of them. How was it that Will could suffer Hannibal’s capacity for evil, could knowingly look beyond all the blood and loved ones Hannibal had forced out of his life, but the mere concept of wanting him _that way_ \- not to kill him but to live with him, not to tear him apart but to swallow him down-

Will couldn’t think on it. He forced the thought down like a knot in his throat, shuddering from the cold and posturing where he sat in hopes for a comfortable position. Just four more hours left to go, he calculated, before morning.  
  


* * *

 

 _Warm_. In the haziness of sleep, Will took a few moments to register that someone had covered him with a thick blanket and that Chiyoh’s study, once so cold, now glowed a warm gold from the fireplace. Will could make it the soft trickle of liquid pouring into glass behind him and the smell, too, of Bergamot in the air.

“Chiyoh asked me today, Will, how she ought to rearrange our sleeping arrangements,” Hannibal’s voice sounded behind him. “In the interest of honesty, I confessed to her that I don’t know what exactly it is you’d prefer. Some clarity would be appreciated both on her part and mine, if you’re willing to offer it.”

Will watched as Hannibal walked towards him, setting a tea set between them on a nearby table. Will felt his mouth running dry. “Is this your way of asking me if I’ve been avoiding you?”

“No, that much is apparent. You haven’t been sleeping well for quite some time now,” Hannibal said, finally sitting in a chair to opposite Will’s own.

“I don’t sleep much,” Will told him with attempted nonchalance. “Never really have- you know that.”

Hannibal measured his words before extending Will his serving of tea, the cup suspended as a sort of offering. “You’ve taken to sleeping less, then, for nearly a week,” he said.

So Hannibal hadn’t been asleep after all. Will frowned, searching Hannibal’s face for some sort of tell, hoping to divine just how it was that much Hannibal knew. “We don’t have to share a bed if that’s the problem. I’ve been- it’s been a lot of bad dreams lately. I wasn’t trying to wake you.”

“It’s not that that concerns me, Will. We are hardly sharing the bed at all. You wake up more frequently than before and now you seldom return to bed at all. Is something troubling you?”

Will took a placid sip of his tea and looked away, the taste rich and hot in his mouth. He thought on yesterday’s dinner, how Chiyoh had joined them over dinner to update them on Crawford’s continued efforts to find their bodies, now that Dolarhyde’s tape caught some of their final moments. The video had even leaked online, Chiyoh informed them, thanks to the ever-dedicated Freddy Lounds. “You mean besides being missing, soon to be presumed dead?”

“It’s foolish to make presumptions,” Hannibal smiled, nearly amused. “I want to know what is you’re going through, Will. If you’ll allow me, I want to help you.”

Will let the cup warm his hands. He bit down a smile, crossing his legs and settling back into his chair. “Are we back in therapy already?”

“It’s be difficult to maintain a therapeutic relationship with client whom I share a bed with,” Hannibal chided. “These are merely conversations, as they always have been.”

“Right,” Will laughed, testing the waters and the edges of Hannibal’s good humor, “because you’re nothing if not ethical when it comes to your relationship with me.”

“Are you uncomfortable with our relationship?”

“I am uncomfortable with not knowing the nature of it. I fall into the habit of still feeling as though I’m walked face-backwards into a lion’s den when I’m alone in a room with you.”

“Do you want to leave, then?” Hannibal asked, taking a drink. “You’ve regained your strength and your wounds have healed well. You could walk out of this house with the intention to never look behind you.”

Will wanted to laugh. Hannibal allowed him only the _intention_. “I don’t think I have it in me. I’m tethered to this place so long as I’m tethered to you. Just as Chiyoh is. You’re gravitational that way.” He paused then, looking into the dark ember in his cup. “But I’ve discovered it’s a mutual grasp- Bedelia told me, once, that you’re in love with me.”

Will watched something shift in Hannibal’s demeanor. The slightest moment of transparency, the smallest hint of surprise. He could almost feel Hannibal circling backwards from within, like an animal still tethering between the choice to attack or run away instead. “One grows to appreciate her candor. Have I, then, left you so unsettled?”

“I’m unsettled with myself,” Will frowned, looking into his nearly emptied glass again. “Unsettled, that is, with how I feel about your feelings and unsure of what it is, exactly, you want."

Hannibal smiled at him. "I want only what you would give me, Will. This alone- your companionship, your becoming- is more than I could've ever asked for."

Will frowned at his hands, fingers drumming nervously against the glass of his cup. "If I gave you more, you would take it, wouldn't you?"

"If you're asking me about romantic or sexual intimacy," Hannibal spoke plainly, "then I would happily oblige to whatever you would offer me. But I would oblige just as easily if you opted never to do so. You matter to me beyond the scope of sexual desire, Will."

"I've never been with a man," Will shared. "I've never wanted to. I- I think that's shifting, now. I don't know if that is because of you or in response to you. I've spent so many years trying to think as you do- I can't navigate, anymore, between which thoughts are wholly mine and which thoughts wholly yours. So often, instead, I feel as though those distinctions are blurred."

"Then, I want nothing more than what we presently have. We have a mutual influence, Will. You shape me just as thoroughly as I do to you- but influence and imposition are worlds apart. Navigate between your thoughts, Will- navigate, too, within the depth and breadth of your feelings. When you find clarity, you'll find me, waiting for your conclusion. What I want, above anything else, is a design of our shared making, Will."

Will felt a weight roll off his shoulders. Hannibal would give him authority, the power of choice and control over their relationship. What Hannibal wanted was clear enough: proximity, to remain by one another's side. _They were, the two of them, alone without the other_ , Will remembered. Whatever boundaries Hannibal was willing to cross to guide Will Graham to the most fundamental truths of himself, this was a line he would not cross. It was inelegant, rude, dehumanizing. Hannibal, Will realized, love him as he loved himself. He considered him, above all others, the only person equal to himself.

Stirred from his thoughts, Will could feel Hannibal watching him. The silence ebbed between them statically. Will swallowed his anxiety and decided to take one step further, press just a little closer once more unto the edge. “Some things present themselves with clarity. I still dream about you,” he told Hannibal. “Even now, despite my fears, I still do.”

Moments passed before Hannibal spoke in response. “Do you still fantasize about killing me?”

“Not anymore,” Will scoffed, biting his lip. He gathered his strength and met Hannibal’s gaze, matching his soft stare with one of sharp resolve. “In my dreams, I’m not _killing_ you, Hannibal.”

The older man shifted where he sat, closer to a loss for words than Will had ever seen him. Will could feel the drive of the conversation open for the taking and, tempted by the power of it, took hold of what he could. Will felt a sudden clarity, an immediate and unexplainable desire to test the waters between them. He remembered fishing in the rivers by his old home at Wolf Trap- a bite on the hook that Will didn't know he wanted to badly. A desire, that is, to reel the fishing line back and expose the long-awaited reward to open air. 

“You and I have dipped so long into an intimacy without touching, Hannibal,” Will told him, settling his cup down. He reached forward to where Hannibal sat across from him, surveying how Hannibal watched him. Without waiting for permission, he took Hannibal’s cup from him, deliberating over how their hands brushed- Will’s warm fingertips over the cool feeling of Hannibal’s own. “There are open spaces, now, in how I relate to you. I feel as though I’m teetering between what we’ve always been to one another and what we became on the bluff. I want to regain my balance now. I want to settle and still. I want to sleep in our bed again.”

Hannibal opened his hands, his palms open and inviting for Will’s hands to fit into. He watched with downcast eyes as Will skimmed his fingertips over the shape of Hannibal’s hands, over the slim narrowing of his wrists and then settled, finally, at his palms. Hands held at last. “Speak to me, then, however much you want to,” he spoke, his voice low and strikingly gentle, “tell me about your dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, gang. Grad school is no joke. This chapter was so insufferably hard to get through- I keep getting vague as to what I want for this fic and worried, too, that I'm not offering my audience something absolutely unique. Oh well. The point is to finish this through. It's getting steamier, gang. Expect murder and shared baths and touching next time. As always, feedback keeps anxieties and insecurities at bay.
> 
> Something worth sharing. I read somewhere, and realized, that Will Graham often goes in circles. He takes steps forward and then, faltering, goes back. I hope that I've captured the spirit of that without sounding sloppy- the complications of wanting someone but being afraid of the unknown. The v rational fear of worrying that growing more intimate with a person capable of tremendous malice speaks to your own capacity for cruelty. Will has some last reservations before becoming a full-on murder husband. Let's see how that works out. Kudos, Hannibal, for being so patient.
> 
> You can, as always, find me on tumblr (Marsza).


	4. Chapter 4

Their hands still conjoined, Hannibal fiddled with Will’s fingers, caressing him with slow caution. As much as he wanted to finally cling to Will, to touch him with heedless abandon, he knew the man could frighten- that brashness would overwhelm him, perhaps, and cause Will to shut himself away again. Instead, Hannibal would edge carefully along the parameters of their first touch as though treading on glass.

 “I keep dreaming about your hands,” Will confessed. “When I wake up, I feel as though you’ve just lifted them off my skin.”

 “You’ve never been particularly inclined to tactility, Will,” Hannibal spoke, his voice measured and unfazed. “In your dreams, do you welcome my touch?”

“Yes. I wake up as though I’ve been holding my breath- I feel warm. I feel nervous, I think- anxious for it to happen again.”

Hannibal opened his hands against Will’s own, measuring the length from palm to fingertips. _Beautiful hands_ , he thought to himself. _Hands capable of art, of safety, and of tremendous violence._ “Did you know that you are the first to have held me in three years? Those that handled me under Alana’s care dealt with me as though tiptoeing around an animal. The younger ones were forbidden to work with me. They more experienced of Alana's handlers touched me only as much as absolutely necessary, shirking back as if dealing with fire.” 

Will gave him a wry smile in half-apology, his heart palpitating like a metronome in his chest. “It's a shared desperation then. Touch does as much to you as it does to me.”

“No, it's an effect that is entirely specific to you,” Hannibal amended. “'So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,’ as the poet says, ‘so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.’ We are conjoined, as you once told me.” Hannibal faltered. He took a moment and studied Will at length, searching his face, so dear, so changed, so infinitely unchanging. Heat colored the man’s cheeks, his nervous downcast eyes protected by a fan of dark eyelashes. _Precious boy_ , Hannibal thought, _terrible, clever thing_. “Can I come closer to you, now, Will, or would you prefer we maintain our distance?”

Will paused, anxiously considering the tremor in his hands- anxiety, fear, a flurry of excitement and pride. “Come closer,” Will told him at last, feigning courage.

At the call, Hannibal broke his hands away from Will’s grip. The loss of touch was, to Will's surprise, immediately disappointing; when had Hannibal's touch felt so validating? When, too, had Will grown so fond of the gleam in his eyes, the cupid's bow of his lips? He watched as Hannibal lowered himself off his seat and went onto his knees. Will watched him, dumbfounded and speechless at the prostration. This man was so close- so still and pliant before him. Hannibal was close enough for Will to touch or shut away from forever; close enough that Hannibal could respect his boundaries or, instead, boldly cross them. Will realized that he was close enough, too, to slot himself between Will's legs if he so pleased- that flashed in Will's mind, inciting a passing moment of embarrassment.

Hannibal drew closer, the flat solidity of his stomach brushed against Will’s knees. _Warm_ , Will noticed. _Solid_ _comfort_. He shuddered at the proximity and the look of worship in Hannibal’s stare.

“In your dreams, where do I touch you?”

Will swallowed thickly, eyes closing as visions of past dreams lingered in his mind. “ _Everywhere_. You start with- with my face. You start with the scars on my skin- my forehead, my cheek, the places I’ve been marked by my life with you. I don’t find strength in them, but you do. They excite you.”

Behind closed eyes, Will became acutely aware of the tightness in his chest, the trembling in his hands, the stirring at the pit of his stomach. Will could feel Hannibal’s chest rising and falling softly against his knees, the steady rhythm of his breath. “Our dreams often delight in what our conscious minds are wary of. I want to relieve you, Will, of your anxieties. If you’ll allow me, I want to affirm to you that there nothing to fear in my touching you. I would do only what you want me to. One word of protest and everything ends.”

Will felt the gravity of Hannibal’s words, an intentional oath recited for Will on his knees. God help him, the very sight of Hannibal beneath him _excited_ Will. “You think you can match my predispostion for behaviorism with positive conditioning. Your touch has always come at high cost,” Will told him instead, frowning against the sensation of his wakening arousal. “I remember Abigail. I remember what you did to me, what we did to the Dolarhyde. We only touch when yours hands are steeped in blood.”

Hannibal smiled at him. “Then I offer you my words. I’ll only speak stories to you, Will, if that’s what will dispel your fears. Tell me what you want and I will supply it.”

Will thought on his dreams, on the image of Hannibal’s body over his, on the phantom sensation of his teeth over Will’s neck, his hands between Will’s legs. “More than words,” he told Hannibal in a low hush. “Words won’t be enough for me and you know that. You’ve accustomed me to the force of you. You’ve marked me.” Will opened his eyes, unsurprised to find Hannibal watching him. But the _look_ in Hannibal’s eyes- his expression dark, his features wanting. Had he always looked so hungry, so dark? He looked as if he wanted to swallow Will whole. “Do what you do in my dreams to me, Hannibal. Touch me.”

Slowly, Hannibal raised his hands to Will’s temple, watching him for the slightest flinch. Will, swallowing loudly, deliberately leaned into the touch and Hannibal, growing brave in the face of invitation, thatched his fingers into Will’s hair. “I need to ask you, Will, before I go any further you- May I kiss you?”

The younger man stiffened slightly. "Does it really matter that much to you?"

"Very much. But, it matters infinitely more to know that you'll allow it."

Will considered it at length, battling within himself. “No,” he whispered. “Not yet. I don’t know if I can right now.“

Hannibal hummed in affirmation, his thumb running across the scar that lined across Will’s brow. “Then tell me, instead, how the story goes. Help me speak it back to you in action. First, I touch your face.”

Will nodded, warmed by the touch and embarrassed, too, by how flustered he became at the sensation of Hannibal’s hands on him. He felt silly. He felt a childish timidity, an awkward clumsiness that made him want to hide away and, beneath that, a sweet exhilaration. Hannibal’s fingers traced down his cheeks, careful to mind his injuries, and down, instead, to the corners of Will’s mouth. “You put your hands around my neck.”

Hannibal followed instruction with grace, his fingers over Will’s pulse, tightening around the girth of Will's neck for only a moment before fluttering back into a caress. “You- you put your mouth on me here, in my dreams- you put your mouth over my jugular to measure how I respond to you.” 

Hannibal smiled at him, stretching up, narrowing the space between them so he could press a kiss against Will’s jaw and then, tracing downwards, brought his mouth to the base of Will’s throat. “I could bite you,” Hannibal told him. “You’ve seen me do this, hold my mouth over someone's throat. You know the threat of it. You dream of this, perhaps, because you are still processing the beauty you found on what I did- in how I could sink my teeth into someone that hurt you, like you once did years ago.”

“Yes,” Will sighed, his breath trembling. “Yes and you- you like this as much as I do, in my dreams. You take delight in me baring my death to you.” Will shifted in his seat, spreading his legs and gasping when Hannibal slotted himself between them so that Will’s knees dug into Hannibal’s sides. Will knew his arousal was apparent, the tightening in his pants obvious if only Hannibal cared to glance. Red-faced, Will pressed on. “The dreams- the dreams are different every time but they always start this way and- and sometimes you take me in your hand. Other times, you-"

“I take you in my mouth,” Hannibal interrupted, reading Will's hesitation; his voice sounded a tangent rougher, the shadow of his native language accenting his words a touch stronger now. “Can I do that now? Would you allow me to do this, dear Will?

Will laughed in sharp nervousness, clamping his eyes shut. “You think I won’t let you kiss me but I’ll let you blow me?” 

Hannibal smiled against Will’s neck, pressing a final kiss against Will’s rushing pulse. “Some intimacies are more frightening than others. You don’t have to offer me your mouth, Will, but I offer you mine gladly. Tell me you’ll allow me this.” Hannibal opened his mouth against Will’s neck, his teeth sharply skimming over Will’s skin before he broke away. Will shuddered at the sudden chill of it and he felt the breath rush out of him as Hannibal’s hands rested over Will’s knees and squeezed. “Speak to me.”

Will nodded desperately, unsure of what to do with his hands. He brought them to Hannibal’s neck, skimming them up through his hair, pressing into his skull. He could crush him, Will thought. He could crush him but, God, Hannibal could crush him, too. Hannibal could bite into Will and swallow him whole and something deep and dark within Will confessed that he would allow it. “Yes, then- touch me. You open your mouth for me. You praise me, in my dreams, you call me yours.”

“My Will,” Hannibal recited and the phrase hit Will like a smack to the face. He had heard those words before; they had snuck their way into the haziness of his sleep. “My Will,” Hannibal repeated as he opened the younger man’s trousers and pulled at the material so Will could lift himself up off the chair just long enough for Hannibal to pull his pants down. “My Will, my dear Will-“

“You- god, Hannibal, you- you touch me like you’re reverent of me. Like I’m a weapon in your hands or made of glass, instead. You touch me like you’ve been waiting to do it for years and years.”

Will watched Hannibal bite into his lip, lingering over the band of Will’s underwear before pulling down and exposing him entirely, his cock flushed and half-hard. Will looked away immediately, overwhelmed by the sight. “No,” Hannibal said firmly, “I want you to watch me. Keep your eyes on me. Watch me follow what you’ve already determined for me in your dreams. This, too, is a gift, Will. Watch me.”

Will nodded, swallowing down a desperate cry when Hannibal fingered across the circumcised head of Will’s cock, tracing along its sensitive surface and ghosting over its slit delicately. Hannibal touched him with a musician’s skill, appreciating the ample girth and length of him. He traced along its slight curve, dipping his fingers downward to play with Will’s balls- tempted, inwardly, to trace downwards, to press him deeper and tap at the nerve of his prostate, taking his time to pleasure Will with expert skill.

But, no – Hannibal would mind himself, opting instead to grip at Will’s member fully and appreciate, instead, what Will had so wonderfully offered him at present. Hannibal wrapped his hand around Will’s length and gave his cock a tug, a second, a third. Then, spreading his thumb over the precum that was steadily gathering at the tip of Will's cock and licking, too, one of his hands for added moisture, Hannibal began setting a pace. Far too slow to start, eliciting a whine that ripped out of Will before the younger man could help him himself. Hannibal, visibly satisfied by Will's cries, hurried, falling into a steady and electrifying rhythm. Will’s mouth rounded in an open _oh_ , needy and desperate noises filling up the room. Hannibal rose up to kiss Will’s neck again, sucking against the skin, eager to leave a red-violet bruise in his wake. In desperate turn, Will hitched his hips up, helplessly rising to Hannibal’s administrations before a hand defiantly pressed into Will thigh and held Will down.

“Oh –“ Will groaned, his breaths coming in labored pants. “Oh, _fuck_ , Hannibal-“

“I take you in my mouth now,” Hannibal told him roughly and, Will thought,  _goddamn_ _him_ for his stubbornness because now Will wanted so desperately to abandon the nightly visions, the instructions, the hesitations- he only wanted _more_. Blindly, shamelessly, Will wanted more, more, more. “Is that right, Will?”

“Yes,” Will sighed. “Yes, oh god- yes, please. _Please_.” 

“And when I do,” Hannibal proposed, “what do I think of it? What do I tell you? Does it burden me? Does it please me as it pleases you?”

“It- oh, _please_ , _Hannibal_ -“

“Tell me, Will. This is for you, Will. This is to follow suit with what you’ve imagined, so that you have nothing to fear from me. So that you know that this is what I can give you and that I’ll do it freely for you, my darling thing, and I’ll do it as well as you deserve.”

“You – you like it. You like the taste of me, you like the weight of me on your tongue,” Will forced out, his eyes closing at the rushing sensation of forming tears as Hannibal deliberately edged him near climax, jacking his length fast before slowing to an almost complete stop. “You like it, Hannibal, you tell me so. God, it fucking wrecks me when you tell me so and I-“

Without warning, damp warmth surrounded Will’s member and Will shook violently in pleasure, in shock, in fear and adoration of the man beneath him. Hannibal took the length of him into his mouth graciously, unabashed with enthusiasm, before pulling away completely with a audible _pop_. Will cried out, lolled his head back, aching and pained by the absence of Hannibal’s touch until he took him into his mouth again- swallowing him down deeply with a lewd wet noise. With trembling hands, Will grabbed at Hannibal’s hair tightly- too tightly, Will realized with deep mortification until Hannibal groaned around his cock in satisfaction. _Of course_ , he thought, the realization sinking like an anchor. _Of course this is how it’d go_.

“I knew you’d be like this,” Will moaned, pressing his foot into the small of Hannibal’s back, pushing him closer in a desperate attempt for more. “God, I knew this- I knew this, I- oh, god, I knew you’d take me if I let you. Knew you were waiting for this, for me- have wanted to do this since you laid eyes on- on me and _god, Hannibal_ \- _fuck_ \- I’m close-“

The sight of Hannibal beneath him, his lips around Will’s cock, his hand gripped tight over the spasming muscle of Will’s thigh was nearly unbearable. To know that Will had peered well enough into Hannibal’s innermost being to dream something so strikingly similar was one thing but, more than that- this was more than that. This was Hannibal obliging, prostrated, eager to please Will in waking. “I’m close,” Will repeated in warning, his voice shaking, his knees helplessly rising and digging into Hannibal’s side. “Oh, god, oh – “

Instead of slipping away from Will as the young man had so expected, Hannibal only hummed around his length, the reverberations delightful enough to spark light behind Will’s closed eyes. Oh, he realized through a thunderous haze. _Oh_. Hannibal wanted it exactly like this- he wanted Will to come in his mouth, hadn’t entertained the thought of anything else. The realization shook Will to his core. Hannibal hallowed his cheeks to give Will one final, sharp suck, taking Will to the debilitating, speechless point of climax. Will cried sharply from the blinding intensity of his orgasm, moaning as Hannibal deliberately swallowing the spurts of his load over his tongue and down his throat

Panting and oversensitive, Will returned to awareness in a hazy wading, realizing in dazed delay that Hannibal still had Will in his mouth, sucking softly at the last remnants of Will’s orgasm until Will winced at the painful overstimulation of it. Will ran his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, stoking him with genuine affection and bending to kiss the crown of the older man’s head. Hannibal’s hair smelled fragrantly of sandalwood, of the soap and water they now shared, the very same fragrance that now lingered permanently in their shared bed.

“You,” Will whispered between catching breaths. “Now you- you, too-“

Hannibal laughed against Will’s lap, resting his chin sweetly over Will’s bended knee. Will felt Hannibal move, could hear him fumbling with his own pants for a moment before raising a hand to Will’s lips like an offering. Thoughtlessly, Will opened his mouth to Hannibal’s fingers, immediately tasting the salty dampness that coaxed them on his tongue. Hannibal had come untouched, still confined in his clothing. _Fuck,_  Will thought, groaning in pleased disbelief- _that_ he hadn't dreamed of. 

“I want to sleep in our bed tonight,” Will said finally, voice soft and sweet to Hannibal’s ears. “My back really fucking hurts.”

“Is that all?” Hannibal joked, amused.

Will stoked Hannibal’s hair again, holding him close before readying to let go of him entirely. This glowing moment, he knew, was drawing to an easy and gentle end. “Maybe there’s a bit more to it than that.”

Hannibal stood up, fastening his pants and looming over, now, Will’s seated form. Looking down at him in unabridged awe, he smoothed back the sweat-dampened strands of hair that clung to Will’s still-hot forehead. “My Will,” Hannibal sighed, tasting the words on his lips one last time. “Come to bed, then- rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, gang. We've finally added the spice. No intentional parallels to pretty woman here, but yes, Will can't muster the strength for kisses yet. It's an inverse process, idk. It just felt //right//. Official rating change and second time ever writing a sex scene. Victories! Allusion of the chapter: Pablo Neruda's poetry. And, as an added bonus, I went back to previous chapters and did some light editing. I also added a pretty major conversation into the second chapter. Check that out if you're so inclined, friends.
> 
> Don't be fooled, dear readers, into thinking this is the peak of the story. I still have something planned for our last chapters. Also, please let me know that staying up to the break of dawn writing this chapter was worth it by giving me some kudos or, better yet, leaving me a comment or two. Those are very affirming little things. They help anxious, self-doubting me know I'm doing something right. As always, you can find me on tumblr at Marsza. Thanks for reading, gang.


	5. Chapter 5

 The comfort of a soft mattress made Will’s sore muscles sing. He stretched across the bed, humming in pleasure as his back cracked at the twist and turn of his body and, remembering Hannibal was only an arm’s length away, flustered. Even through the darkness of their room, Will recognized the warmth in Hannibal’s countenance- his eyes softened with admiration, his mouth upturned in amusement, and something else, something stronger behind it all. A want, Will realized, an inconvenient desperation that Hannibal had submitted to Will’s control. 

Will turned to Hannibal then, the two of them lying towards one another in their shared bed. This was new. They had never ventured towards the middle of the bed. They had never touched. Instead, they dutifully turned their backs to the one another and left the invisible boundary between them intact. _No more of that_ , Will decided. He raised a hand to graze at Hannibal’s cheek, reluctant until the older man turned his face to welcome the affection. 

In the dark coolness of their room, under the comfort of warm covers, Will laid hands on Hannibal as if he was precious, made more of glass than of iron. His thumb ran over the rise and fall of the man’s cheekbones. He followed the small scars that marked Hannibal’s face, markings that mirrored Will’s own imperfections and smiled a soft, saddened smile. What a dark gravitation they had between them- what a bitter, sorrow thing, to only know intimacy through violence. When Hannibal closed his eyes to Will’s ministrations, Will traced over his eyelashes, the run of his eyelids, the rise of Hannibal’s brow. He stroked the man’s hair, memories of the last time he had done so still fresh in his mind- Hannibal on his knees, his head against Will’s wet thigh, his parted lips damp, his hands keeping Will’s legs spread obscenely apart. Will remembered how the tension poured out his body with his climax. He remembered the almost laughable affection, too, that incited Will to want to comfort the man, to make him feel that same sweet relief, sexual anxieties be damned. Will thought in awe, too, of how Hannibal had gotten off on the mere act of bringing Will to the peak of pleasure. A wanting stirred deep within him, but Will whisked it away. 

“May I touch you?” Hannibal asked then, still pliant under Will’s hand. "It's getting darker now in this room- the moon is gone. Soon I won't be able to see you clearly." 

"You always do," Will whispered. "You always have. Darkness can't change that."

Hannibal stilled, his hand resting on the small expanse mattress between them. "Seeing is enough but may I touch you, too, Will?" he asked again, all the softer. 

Will nodded permissively. Hannibal emulated him, hands over Will’s face like a blind man. With the same fingers that brought death to some and pain to many, Hannibal traced Will’s jawline with delicate adoration. He followed the shape of Will's nose, the bow of Will’s lips. He lingered there for a moment, just a touch, before moving onwards. They did that, together,- touched, wordlessly, almost happily, in the darkness. Hannibal’s hands anchored on Will’s stomach, palms flat against the solidity there. He ran his fingers over the lopsided scar that marred Will’s abdomen and hummed as Will shuddered. He stroked the younger man’s sides, thumbs rubbing small, massaging circles into the solidity there until a hitched sound of satisfaction slipped from Will’s mouth. A gasp, a hum closer to a whimper, a stretching sigh- a collection of noises that Hannibal wanted to keep stored in his memory for the end of  time. He touched Will experimentally, then, fingertips down over the dip of his hips, measuring Will for a reaction. A request. A proposition.

The younger man flinched away. The line had been crossed. His form, once so lax, stiffened immediately. “Don’t,” Will blurted aloud. “I’m sorry, I don’t want- I can’t-“

Hannibal lifted his hands easily, the loss of touch too quick for Will to register. He rose a hand to Will’s cheek instead, their bodies mirroring one another perfectly in the darkness. “Just this, then?” he asked, watching Will’s nervousness reclaim its hold on him and whisk their quiet intimacies away. The younger man grew more frigid by the second, an apology ready to spill from his lips until Hannibal interrupted him instead. “You know that if this is all you wanted, Will, for the rest of all time, I would be content.”

"Just this, then," Will confirmed warily. It had all been too much for one day. There still was, at the base of him, a subtle war being waged over the costs of this intimate game. 

Hannibal hummed, voice light, thumb swiping over Will's eyes and inciting them to close. "Only this, then, tonight." 

Will found himself at a loss for words. The room was silent, still enough for Will to listen to the steady pace of his breathing and Hannibal's too. How did this man, this monster of a man, always give rise to such a cross motions in Will? The more he gave Will control, the more something primordial and instinctual rose in Will, valuing the chaste devotion but desperately wanting for something more. Will swallowed down an ache in his throat, sighing deeply. They kept on, like partners at the end of their time, circling over and over again with intimate touches- a caress of the cheek, fingers threading through hair, exchanged smiles and the soft melody of breath. And, with the midnight hour, Will’s eyes became heavy with sleep, every blink of his eyes lingering a little longer, and vision dulling with peace.

When Will eyes closed for the last time, Hannibal had only just then fallen asleep.

* * *

Morning light spilled forward from their windows, filling the bedroom with soft light. Will, dozed languidly out of a deep sleep, a groan sounding from his throat. Some swirling dream had filled his head again, but what he was feeling wasn’t fear. Will wasn’t slipping out of a dream out of shame or horror, but, instead, a deep pleasure. A satisfaction that came from friction, a solidity clamped between Will’s thighs that he could press down on until a flash of gratification followed like sparks behind his closed eyes. The sensation was sharp and sweet, exhilarating in its abundance. Will immediately wanted more, his arousal growing steadily. He unconsciously rolled his hips again and reached out blindly for the person turned towards him, indulging in a moment of guiltless pleasure.

Hannibal’s hand anchored on Will’s hip and then, of course, that heedless moment passed. Will jolted into awareness, springing away from Hannibal and ramming the bed’s headboard with an audible thunk before scrambling to a sitting position. _What had he done?_ In their sleep, one of Hannibal’s legs had slotted between Will’s thighs and Will had- well, Will had sleepily rutted against him like- like a fucking _teenager_ and-

Hannibal sat up, still disheveled from sleep and absolutely beautiful, somehow, in a way that Will hadn’t even accounted for. Beautiful in a way that Will wanted to hold close to the point of passion but, presently, Hannibal wasn’t watching Will with matching wonder. He was staring at Will, instead, with wide-eyed confusion. _Christ_.

 “Fuck, look- I really didn’t mean that,” Will blurted out and then groaned, face warm and hands balled over his eyes in mortification. _Good job, asshole_. “Shit, I meant I was sleeping and I didn’t- I was _asleep,_ I was dreaming again and I-“

 Then, Hannibal moved to brush the hair away from Will’s face, his fingers tracing over Will’s wrists, shushing away Will’s now indiscernible mumbling. He tugged gently at Will’s hands, now, pleased when Will dissented and allowed his still-flushed face to be exposed. “You’re awake now. We both are. You can leave for the bathroom, if you want to.”

 Will bit down on his lip. He wanted to hide away until his humiliation subsided into the unmentioned past. But a trace of desire still thrummed in his blood, a steady wanting he knew Hannibal would happily indulge. “Or?”

 “Or you can stay in bed with me,” Hannibal suggested. “And I can help you, if you’ll allow me to.”

Will scoffed. “You make it sound so selfless. I thought we were past the point of pretense.”

 “I want you to help me help you,” Hannibal said. He leaned closer, then, to cradle Will’s head in his hands, trying to commit the image of his bright eyes, his parted mouth, the audible swallow of his throat, to memory. “I want you to help yourself, Will.”

“Reciprocity, then,” Will sighed, the pad of Hannibal’s thumb edged ever closer to the corner of his lips. The young man licked his lips deliberately; satisfied when Hannibal gave Will’s mouth a lingering glance. “It makes you feel good to please me.”

“Have we finally broached yesterday’s hesitations, Will?” Hannibal asked after a long pause. Will wanted to laugh. Hannibal wanted to be kissed. He wanted to kiss him. The bed shifted beneath them as Will closed in on him all the more, situated on Hannibal’s lap. He let himself be held, wrapped his arms over Hannibal’s own and reached around to grip Hannibal’s back as they clung to one another. Hannibal pushed his hips against Will’s, deliberate, so that their bodies touched completely. Will shuddered, sighing again as he felt Hannibal’s growing hardness against him.

A sudden thought: had Hannibal’s leg _really_ found its way between Will’s thighs by accident? Will bit his lip and shifted where he sat, intentional in how his groin pressed against Hannibal’s own. “Ask me again,” Will said, growing breathless. “Ask me honestly.”

One of Hannibal’s hands found Will’s cheek again, his index finger daringly tracing the line of Will’s bottom lip. “May I kiss you, Will?”

Wordlessly, Will nearly closed the space between them. His hands still anchored over Hannibal’s shoulders, he pressed an almost chaste kiss over Hannibal’s forehead. “Are you really so desperate to kiss me, Doctor Lecter? Have you really spent all these years so untouched?”

Hannibal nuzzled against Will, trying to catch Will’s mouth with his own, amused when Will snidely turned away from him. Will antagonized him, mouth pressed to Hannibal’s skin everywhere but where Hannibal most wanted him- parted lips tracing the rise of Hannibal’s cheekbones, teasingly close to his mouth and then, entirely avoidant. “Not yet,” Will mumbled against the crook of Hannibal’s neck, releasing a warm sigh before he sucked against the skin experimentally. “You’ll have to wait. You can’t kiss me yet.”

 “Rude,” Hannibal warned, pressed up against Will suddenly, the movement of his hips intentional, his mouth tugged in a smile as Will immediately moaned. “I’m afraid you’re being tremendously rude.”

 “Not rude, just prudent,” Will laughed, arched against Hannibal and pushed down into Hannibal’s lap until the solid suggestion of his cock was slotted beneath Will’s ass. Hannibal needed no further encouragement; he ran his hands down Will’s sides, settling over the small of Will’s back. Hannibal skimmed his fingertips over the waistline of Will’s pajama pants suggestively, trailing his nails against Will’s soft skin. He slipped further down, cupping Will’s ass in two satisfying handfuls as he rose his hips up against Will over again. The two of them stayed pressed together, flushed, hips rising and falling to grind against one another with tiding motion.

 “Hannibal,” Will sighed, his hands balled over the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt in tight fists. Will wanted to see him, to touch him this time, to do terrible and tremendous things. He wanted him undressed for it. “Take this off.” 

Hannibal smiled, fingers deftly working around the buttons of his shirt until the article loosened. The fascination in Will’s eyes was nearly tangible; he watched Hannibal with deliberation, slowly easing the now unbuttoned shirt off Hannibal’s broad shoulders. Will pulled his own shirt off, haphazardly casting it to the floor and groaning at the feeling of Hannibal’s bare skin against his own. Pressed close again, Will blindly trailed a wandering hand over Hannibal’s back, observing the muscles, the turn of bone and sinew that motioned beneath hot skin as they moved. Will touched Hannibal’s scar- Mason Verger’s insanity branded on Hannibal’s skin, otherwise perfect skin forever marked- and sighed a broken sound, a wanting noise. 

 It happened in an almost blur- a dawning moment of realization, of self-incredulity as Will’s attention divided for a moment’s time and focused, instead, on the shared sound of them, of the heat in the room and on his own skin. On the creak of the bed, their labored breaths, the sound of Hannibal whispering Will’s name against his skin as he bent to kiss Will’s neck and then, with another utter of his name, bite softly against he protrusion of Will’s collarbone. Will heard himself moan loudly, a wrecked sound, and felt, as if in afterthought, the threat of some haunting darkness growing in the corner of his mind- self-doubt, shame, the last lingering divisions between what he was and what he ought to be: not aroused, but ashamed, not invested but running, not alive but gone- gone- dead by his hand or Hannibal’s and-

“You’re thinking very loudly, Will,” Hannibal told him, speaking hotly against Will’s chest and shaking the ebbing anxiety away like a cobweb. “Hush the past away now. Don’t wade into your old waters. You will not find me there in the past."

 Will braced himself, pushed them both haphazardly unto the mattress. Hannibal groaned, letting his legs spread open to allow Will a more comfortable place on top of him. “I'm staying with you. I can’t leave you,” Will whispered, realizing the grave truth to what he was saying. He wasn't, they both knew, speaking of only this moment. He was speaking of the future, of the unknown expanse of time that laid before him. A decision was made. “I can't leave. God, Hannibal, if I tried-“

"I won't let you," Hannibal promised darkly. Will swallowed audibly, terrified but comforted. Hannibal brought a hand to Will’s face again, pleased when Will opened his mouth to the fingers he anticipating pressed against Will’s parting mouth. Will moaned, dizzy with the sensation of licking Hannibal’s fingers, imagining something else, anticipating something more- then, working deftly, Hannibal used a free hand to tug Will’s pants down and Will compliantly worked the rest, chucking his pants and his boxers away in single stride so that his cock bobbed free against his stomach, heavy and flushed red with need. Will lifted himself up, helped Hannibal do away with the last remnants of his clothing as well until they were both completely bared to each other, Will postured over him and Hannibal beneath, worshipful and still.

They stared at one another in awe, then, drinking each other in. "I've never seen you like this before," Will sighed. "I've never known anyone the way I've known you but everything you are is still dark to me." 

"You see me now, just as clearly as I see you," Hannibal told him. The words rung out like something holy. Maybe, Will thought, those would be their words to each other. Nothing more, nothing less, than 'I see you.' At that, Hannibal’s fingers ran a line over Will’s lips again and Will licentiously took the digits into his mouth again, grinding his hips so that their erections pressed again. When Hannibal’s hands were sufficiently dampened, he took hold of their cocks and stroked them from head to base and back again. He looked up at Will, their eyes catching as he stroked again, matching Will’s flushed smile with his own. The younger man looked absolutely wrecked, his skin damp, his cheeks pink, his hair clinging to his forehead or disheveled, instead, in a curly disarray. A weak, almost shrill sound ripped out of Will as Hannibal ran his thumb over the sensitive heads of their members, letting their pre-come slick his hand and quicken his pace.

“Fuck, Hannibal-“ Will all but whimpered, grabbing him by the hair desperately and letting his eyes clamp shut. Hannibal’s hand brought him to the near edge of relief, the promise of climax closing in with dizzying sweetness. Will shook his head then, wordless and frantic, shrugging Hannibal’s arms off of him and easing off his lap. He didn’t offer him apology or explanation, allowing the man a moment of confusion- a feat, again, to garner such an honest expression of perplexity and almost dejection from the older man as Will slipped away. He pressed his hand to Hannibal’s thigh instead, parting them, looking up at him quickly and pleased to find Hannibal watching him closely, entirely enraptured, singularly focused on the sight of Will bent over him as if entranced by the image.

"I want to do this," Will told him, licking his lips again. "For a long time now, I think. I've thought about it, dream about it- about you."

Will kissed the innermost side of Hannibal’s thigh reverently, pressing the fingers of his left hand in soothing circles over Hannibal’s hip, careful to skirt around the Hannibal's hard and leaking length. Will reached forward after a moment's paused, wanting very badly now to know how it would feel in his hand. Thick, heavy, he found with surprising satisfaction- new, too, entirely foreign for Will to touch another man and find pleasure in its girth, its solidity, at the flushed and intact sight of it. He grasped his cock, then squeezed at the base. Leaning in, Will swiped his tongue up the bottom side of the cock, tracing an engorged vein experimentally and was pleased, then, when Hannibal let out a trembling moan. Bolded by Hannibal’s gratification, Will took the head of his cock into his mouth, surprised by the bitterness of the pre-come there but exhilarated, nonetheless, by the sensation of Hannibal trembling beneath him. 

Hannibal let out a breathless sound, a fumble over words that were most definitely not English as Will went down on him with growing confidence, sucking the head of his cock into his mouth and letting his eyes fall shut as Hannibal nearly bucked into the damp heat of his mouth. Will groaned around him, knowing Hannibal was bracing himself, holding himself back from thrusting into his mouth out of respect for Will or, perhaps more selfishly, fear of overwhelming him and bringing everything to a halt. Will splayed his hand over Hannibal’s hip, holding him down firmly as he took more of the hard length in his mouth before bobbing off of him in teasing slowness. This was new- Will had a basic gist of it, of course, a recollection of what he liked and had received sporadically in the past. He sucked sharply, aware that he couldn’t take the whole of Hannibal in his mouth, acutely attentive to the ache in his throat when Hannibal’s cock reached a touch too deep-

Will thought about practice, about the prospect of getting used to the thickness and the length of him- of becoming good at this, wickedly good at this and brining Hannibal past the edge of his composure. Will’s cock rose approvingly at the thought, now so painful in its aching need that Will snaked a hand between his legs and jacked himself off in a desperate rhythm.

 “Will,” Hannibal sighed, his hands making their way to the crown of Will's head, “clever thing- terrible thing, dear Will-“

Will opened his mouth, releasing Hannibal’s swollen member to take a shaking breath. Hannibal sighed at the loss of sensation, head falling back against the mattress, fingers tugging deftly at the dark strands of Will’s hair. He lifted a had off of Will, ready to attend to his aching with his own hand before Will wordlessly nudged it away and took Hannibal back into his mouth stubbornly, licking down the still-damp length of him again, opening his mouth hotly against the heaviness of Hannibal’s balls.

Hannibal tugged Will off of him, then, earning an agitated whine from Will that surprised them both. Then, meeting one another’s gaze, Hannibal gave him a look of desire, of warning, a soft gaze that begged for permission. He was close, desperately close, that much was clear. Will let out a soft sigh, his eyes downcast again, long, dark eyelashes fanned over red cheeks. Then, giving his own cock a sharp tug, he clamped down on Hannibal again, surprised when Hannibal lifted his hips to match Will’s motions. Fucking into Will's mouth with as much self-control as he could garner, Hannibal took in the sight of Will, taking as much as he could into his mouth, his lips reddened and wet around his length, his face flushed. Hannibal moaned again, sighing Will's name over and over like a mantra as he noticed the unmistakable motion of the younger man bringing himself to the same edge of climax and then-

Then, Will lost rhythm, moaning all the sharper, rushing and growing erratic, entirely un-composed as orgasm drew closer over them both. A tug against skin, a swipe of the tongue, a soft hint of teeth, too, and one last sharp, sharp suck against Hannibal’s cock and a loud moan spilled out the man’s lips as he came. Will swallowed what he could, shocked by the taste but delighted, somehow, too, in a way he couldn’t explain. He pulled at Will’s hair sharply, hard enough to hurt, and the man moaned as if he’d been struck, his own released spilling into his hand in hot spurts. Wiping the excess off his mouth, Will swallowed until the taste thinned and faded, still postured over Hannibal’s thighs.

Breathless, Hannibal pulled at Will, trailing him up into his arms to kiss Will’s temple in awe. Returning to himself, Will clamped his eyes shut as if surprised by the affection. They rolled onto their sides together, arms enwrapped around the other, legs entangled, their groins, their hips, and their stomachs damp and sticky and, sweetly, their sharp labors for breath shared.

When he finally felt strong enough to speak again, Will opened his eyes. He felt as if the moment warranted a word, perhaps, but he was at a loss for them, unsure of how to convey the enormity of his feelings- the way that his affection for Hannibal swayed like shadows, the way it terrified and enraptured him- into words. Hannibal, much to Will’s gratitude, kept his eyes closed. As their soft panting waned, Hannibal caressed Will’s cheek blindly, breathlessly laughing as the younger man leaned into the touch.

“Will,” he whispered, as he always did, speaking the young man’s name like a sacrament. “My Will – “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, gang! Sorry for the lateness. Tolkien once explained that after writing that famous first line in The Hobbit, the story "grew in the telling". That's a good feeling, but worrisome, too- I truly, truly didn't mean for this to just be a sexy chapter but hey, its what you got. I hope that's okay. On the positive side, the bulk of next chapter (which was supposed to be included into this one, had I not made their morning so eventful to say the least) is already done. Expect it in the middle of next week, as I've been regularly doing. Are you wondering where Chiyoh is? We'll get there. We're nearing our end. 
> 
> As always, feedback please? Validate me so I write better and faster, gang, you're my lifeblood.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for the mention of an attempted attack on a woman (Chiyoh's) life. There's no graphic depiction of the attack, only the aftermath and the assailant is rightfully gonna get his due.

The red-violet wine that filled Chiyoh’s glass matched her freshly bruised skin perfectly; the same deep maroon that spilled forward to meet her parted lips stained her cheekbones, her brow, her scraped nose. Will watched her through clenched teeth, his calm thin. “I cannot inform the police,” she spoke finally, the brim of her glass still poised over her bottom lip, “because he _is_ the police. Head of authority on this isle, in fact.”

The young woman sat at the dinner table with structured nonchalance; her sharp edges gentled by the slightest trace of exhaustion. She was bruised violently, marked heavily by unplanned survival. Will looked at the singed, noose-like mark around her neck and frowned bitterly. He envisioned the assailant- how the attacker must’ve grabbed her from behind, wrapped something- a rope, a belt, a cord- around her neck and lifted her off her feet. Every version of the attack, which could’ve prevented her present moment, flashed before his eyes. Chiyoh was almost lost to them- no, _taken_ from them. Attacked. Disrespected. Dehumanized. Will’s hand tightened over his cutlery knife, knuckles white with force.

“In therapeutic practice, survivors often find healing in the validation of their power. What happened to you was, at its barest form, an attempted attack against your autonomy and control,” Hannibal told her. “You have already prevailed against your assailant by identifying and wounding him. Perhaps more significantly, you survived his attempt on your life. He didn’t take into account your own capacity for control.”

Chiyoh nodded, taking her napkin from her lap and setting her cutlery over her finished dinner plate. Will watched Hannibal warily, rightly sensing a clause to his observations. “I want to know,” Hannibal continued in the same reserved air, “how much further you would like to affirm your power over your attacker.”

“Behave,” Chiyoh warned. She took a deep and mindful breath. “Do not forget, I have made a home for myself here.”

“I am immensely mindful of that. I have no plan to disrupt your life here, Chiyoh, especially now that you’ve shown us both such hospitality. I am merely returning one act of respect for another.”

“This town is small. If two people go unaccounted for at the same time and only one is to return alive, our neighbors are sure to notice.”

“Your neighbors cannot notice the absence of one who they did not know was amongst them in the first place.”

Chiyoh smiled at Hannibal sharply, head raised delicately high. Even bruised, she radiated pride and frost, the sort of creature that would bear her scares with audacious tenacity. Chiyoh would not hide her injuries but, instead, bear them with loudness, incite her attack to shame and humiliation just by the sight of her. Will recognized the subversion at hand- she, more capable of killing anyone she pleased, had the liberty to have Hannibal do the work for her _. A cage for a cage_ , Will remembered, _a culpability that runs between them both_. _No_ , he chided himself, _between all_ three _of us_.

There was the trouble, he knew with a churn of the stomach, Will still thought himself exempt. When Will looked up from his still fully served plate of dinner, Hannibal was watching him with a look he couldn’t quite explain. Reaching for his drink, Will suddenly felt all too-transparent, as if the man sitting across from him could see into the very depths of his fears.

“I invite you to join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Hannibal said with finality, looking away from Will and tipping his glass to Chiyoh, instead, with a smile. “You sometimes go to bed without eating supper. Perhaps deliberate your hunger, Chiyoh, if you find that a heavy lunch will spoil your evening appetite. Unless, of course, you later decide that you’d rather procure the meal yourself.”

The raven-haired woman smiled with tenacity, matching the raise of his glass with poise. “I cannot promise you my appetite. I have, for a short time now, felt as though our time together will soon lapse into yet another close. I suspect the feeling is a mutual one. So, within that thought, I promise you, instead, my gratitude. I know you are meticulous in your work.”

If Chiyoh and Hannibal noticed that Will had not raised his glass in unison to them, they were both courteous enough to leave his exclusion unaddressed.

* * *

 

When Will opens the French doors that look onto Chiyoh’s yard, he’s surprised to find her there waiting. Yard, he realizes, is a gross understatement; like most homes on the isle, there are no boundaries of territory to distinguish one home’s borders from another’s. Instead, small houses glow golden like fireflies, settled over the rise and fall of expansive hills that melt into the horizon of the ocean. Chiyoh looks onto the ocean, warm fleece wrapped tightly around her form, a speck of brilliant white against the darkness of everything about her.

“I did not share what happened to me last night to bring division,” she tells Will without turning to him. “Nor did I do so in a scramble for pity. Your sympathy is very apparent, Will. You wear your compassion like a second skin.”

“I wish it were as skin-deep as you think it is. That’d save me a lot of goddamn trouble,” Will said with a dry laugh, leaning against the frame of the door.

“You misunderstand. You wouldn’t be standing so divided within yourself if your capacity for compassion was superficial. I only mean it is easy to lose sight of you- the real you, capable of as much atrocity as Hannibal is- trembling underneath your cloak of anguish.” 

Will frowned, a knot in his throat. The sea breeze breathed gently on his face, the scent that was once so calming now striking a small trigger of fear. “You know, the moment I got well enough to maintain coherent thought, I kept asking myself this really stupid question. I came to the answer pretty quickly, too, but I pushed it the back of my skull because I didn’t like the taste of it. I’m starting to gather that this is partly why my sleep’s gone to shit lately. Worse than it was before, I mean.”

“Share your question with me,” Chiyoh said gently. “I won’t laugh.” Will looked at her from an angle, her face obscured but the glimpse of her mouth tugged upwards to a small smile. This was the closest she got to humor.

“I kept asking myself if I could go back to pretending. It’s- it’s really fucking childish. This boy- Wally was his name. He told me once that I spent a hell of a ton more time pretending than he’s ever done and the kid hasn’t hit his teens yet. But, it was a question about pretending.”

“Pretending that you aren’t as capable of atrocity as Hannibal is?”

“No. I wanted to know if I could go back to pretending I didn’t enjoy it as much as he does. That’s what divided us, in my head, for years. I told myself- tried to convince him, too- that I don’t delight in killing as much as he does. I knew I was fooling myself then- knew that I crossed that line a couple of times over and he knew it, too. But I was feigning ignorance. And that’s the question- wether I can put on a costume and put on that act again. Pretend, I mean, that I don’t find what we do one of the most beautiful things in the world.”

“Is that what held you back from him for so long, then?” Chiyoh asked, finally turning to him, her arms crossed over her chest. The darkness of the night sky dulled her bruising, made her look untarnished again. “You must’ve come to the answer, then, if you’ve tossed away your reluctance. You took to my advice enthusiastically.”

Will’s face flashed hot. “You know we - ?”

“Neither one of you were being exactly subtle,” Chiyoh smirked. “I appreciate the cleanliness, however. Had neither one of you taken to picking up after yourselves, I’m afraid I would’ve tossed you out a lot sooner.”

“So, you admit you’re tossing us out?” Will smiled, despite himself.

“I’ve may want to bring someone home, too, some day,” Chiyoh said with a half-hearted glare. “There are many beautiful women in this isle, Will, though that’s certainly escaped your notice. Besides, I’ve got to carve a space for myself somewhere in this house, before you two finally end up in my bedroom or in the dinning room, instead. I already know about the study and the kitchen.”

“Fucking Christ, I didn’t- I didn’t think you knew about this morning-“

“I actually _didn’t_ know about the kitchen,” she said smugly. “Only suspected. But now, I suppose, I _know_.”

Will laughed, truly laughed at that, his hand covering his reddening face. Chiyoh smiled fully now, something youthful in her countenance and now Will wanted, unexplainably, to know what she had been like before all this trouble. He wanted to know what she looked like when she last laughed.

“Are you leaving with him?” Chiyoh asked finally, nearing Will at the door.

“When you’ve kicked us out?” Will asked incredulously. The answer, he thought, went without saying. Inwardly, he wondered when that _yes, I think I’d follow wherever he goes_ became so solid an affirmation.

“No,” she said, facing him at a matching distance, their eyes catching in a bold stare. “I mean, are you slipping away with him tonight?”

The last threads of his morality flared like a forest-fire. This question, now posed aloud, was not quite so easily answered. 

* * *

 

There were, Will realized to little surprise, no streetlights on the whole of this isle. There were lesser cars. There were no ambulances, not a single hospital. There was, instead, a phone number that all the islanders knew to call in order to phone in a emergency helicopter. The ease of this kill was nearly laughable.

Just nearly.

Sitting on the foot of the still neatly made bed, Will bit worriedly at his lip until the faint taste of copper swiped over his tongue. Behind the closed door of the bedroom, he could hear the low, steady murmuring of Hannibal and Chiyoh’s conversation: A locked door. At least one firearm. No children. His wife, whom many suspect has been victim to his easily roused anger, visiting her mother a half dozen houses down. A local pub, too, where Chiyoh would very visibly meet someone who could solidly account for her time and place on the night of the accident.

This man- whatever his desires, whatever his accomplishments or his delusions of grandeur- was having his death politely discussed in a hallway. Will swallowed bitterly at the thought, eyes clamped shut and a thousand, hurried thoughts waved away like a heavy fog in his head.

Will’s eyes were still tightly shut when a soft rapping sounded at the door, Hannibal’s familiar knock. Will shifted where he sat, the bed sounding beneath him, and wordlessly allowed Hannibal to near him. He was clad in black, hair slicked back, gloves over his hands- simple clothes, Will noted, very easy to discard.

“You haven’t changed,” Hannibal said, nearing Will where he sat, his voice free from both surprise and any obvious disappointment. “I take it, then, you’re not coming with me.”

The younger man maintained his silence, eyes steadily set on his lap. His hair hung over his eyes slightly, a thin shield from the exhausting effort of making eye contact. “You know, you've ruined things for me. Standard rule, I guess, between the two of us. But I didn't expect to get used to _this_ -" he said, gesturing towards the bed, "as much as I have. I won’t be able to sleep until you come home.”

Will could feel Hannibal's stare, his singular focus on Will tangible in the static silence between them. He steeled his focus downwards, staring down at Hannibal's shoes and counting the beats between them both. They both knew what Will's absence meant: somewhere, ineffably, the empath was still lingering over his long-held morality, fighting a losing battle against his inner demons. He wanted to go, they both knew- Will wanted desperately to return to that macabre, breathless moment over the bluff. Will wanted to tear Chiyoh's attacker apart, to affirm that any man who was willing to do such a thing to a woman was wholly and entirely less than- less than a human, less than animal, in fact, something entirely other. 

Will wanted to take Hannibal's hand and become again and that still terrified him. Worser still, it terrified him now much less than before- without knowing it, Will had somehow discarded the shame and hesitance surrounding his dark desires more than he ever had before. More and more, the part of him that resisted Hannibal's influence was waning into nothing. But still he sat, divided. 

Hannibal audibly sighed, crouching down before Will after a moment's pause. Forcing proximity was a threat to Will’s comfort, Hannibal knew, but entirely worth the risk. Nearly knelt before him now, Hannibal and Will finally caught each other’s eyes. Hannibal looked up to Will with a expression of almost worry – it was so hard, Will thought, to really define any look he gave him. “I will not force you and I won’t be long, either,” Hannibal spoke at last, raising to gently frame Will’s face between both of his hands. "But, for the sake of honesty, I didn't intend to do this without you by my side." 

A silent moment lengthened between them for what seemed like a small eternity. The memory of the first time that Hannibal had knelt before Will this way lingered between them both, a shared but unspoken recollection. Will absent-mindedly touched Hannibal’s forehead, his fingers slowly tracing upwards to run his hair back fondly. “Are you worried about me, Will?” he asked, letting himself be held. 

Will smiled, his eyes colored with a bitter sadness. “Yes. I'm worried about you and what you intend to do tonight- worried, too, about other people, other things. I feel as thought you've split me apart, Hannibal. There are parts of myself we've abandoned in the past and I don't know what to do with their empty spaces. "

Hannibal's eyes flickered away from Will as he measured his words. "'Empty spaces'- do you still think so often on those you left behind? I cannot offer you what they would. I see you all too clearly, wholly and entirely as you are, to offer you anything less than this. A life with me, as long as you want it- my touch, my direction, a space made for you to _be_. Your becoming has been a steady process, Will. I would not have you turn your back to it."

Will leaned down enough so that their foreheads touched, gently butting his nose against Hannibal’s own. How warped, Will thought, that they could do this to each other- cut into one another with such violent depth but gravitate towards one another in a way that was more than love.   
  
“Would you ask me not to do this?” Hannibal asked him, leaning against Will’s touch as the young man cupped his cheek. “Tell me, Will, would you ever say to me, “Stop, if you loved me, you’d stop?”

Will ran his thumb over Hannibal’s cheek, which steady line from his ear, across his jaw, to the line of his bottom lip- a movement, they both knew, that was steadily becoming a habit between them. Will softly exhaled a breath he’d been holding, unaware, and let his eyes flutter shut as he closed the space between them all the more. They were so close now- close enough to nearly count every eyelash, close enough to see the steady rise and fall of every breath. "Is what we have love?"

"More than that," he replied. "You are part of what I am, Will. If you were to be torn from me or if, instead, you tore yourself away, I would take to tearing you down. I'd eat you whole, dear thing, I'd start with your heart, and you would have your vengeance against me; in inciting me to break you, you'd convert me into an the instrument of evil pitted against myself. There are no words, perhaps, for a love like this. You're what I am made of, Will. I need to ask you again- would you have me stop?"

Will ran his thumb over Hannibal's lips again, watching intently as that mouth parted underneath his touch and exposed a line of teeth. God, the things they could do to each other, Will thought, the terror they let ferment between them for the sake of love. "Never, no. Not in a thousand years,” Will whispered at last, bending down to kiss Hannibal's cheek. He was warm, Will noted, solid and real. He kissed him again, sweetly, knowing he was doomed- he last of his walls were dissolving. Will would kiss him. He would have himself be kissed. He ran his lips in a trembling trace to Hannibal's mouth, to the tantalizing the corner of his lips. He kissed there slowly, with deliberate thoughtfulness. The last fragments of his hesitation were thinning away, fading into nothingness.

"Can I kiss you, Will?" Hannibal asked, their lips brushed against one another's as he spoke. Will nodded as if half-aware, half-entranced. Yes, Will heard himself say as if by instinct, yes, yes, yes -  
  
Finally turning his head just so, Will allowed Hannibal's lips to meet with his own. A single, lingering kiss- experimental and delicate, as if the two of them were bridging into some unimagined territory. Will smiled, humming at their absurdity. They had nearly died together, had seen one another at their most monstrous, had slept together, had fucked each other breathless and yet _this_ was happen _now_ \- a first kiss happening only just now. "We've been doing everything in the reverse," Will sighed. "All this time and I didn't know I was waiting for this."  
  
Hannibal surged forward, pressing their lips together in a soft slide that set the simmer in Will's chest to a suffocating blaze. "I knew," he said, breaking them to a part, turning his mouth away just slightly when Will reached blindly forward to catch his lips again. "The moment I met you, I knew." 

Hannibal pulled Will closer, then, deepening the kiss with intent. The countless moments Hannibal had wanted to reach forward and press his mouth to Will’s own rushed through his mind, his chest tightening as if to the point of bursting. Will sighed helplessly into Hannibal’s mouth; the room ran silent and still, save for the soft sound of their lips parting and meeting over and over again. He reached to grab at Hannibal’s shoulders, pulling him upwards so they could press against one another more closely than before. He let the other man’s tongue slip inside his mouth, sounding against Hannibal in a low, throaty noise of need.

Then, Will eased them to a near stop, slowing the tension that coiled between them and cooling their pace down to soft, rolling motion of chaste, close-mouthed kisses. Finally, they touched foreheads again, breathing softly in unison and smiling, too, however bittersweetly. “Never, Hannibal,” he affirmed to him softly, “I'd never ask you that, not in a thousand years.”

“That’s my boy,” Hannibal said, smiling as he gave Will one last kiss, relishing in how wanting the young man felt against him, desperate to keep Hannibal anchored still. “I'll come back to you. Don’t worry about me. Only think on me, like I asked of you once before. Don't worry.”

Before Will’s eyes fluttered to an open, Hannibal had already slipped away. The warmth that once flooded Will like a crashing wave was now gone, ripped suddenly and without warning, leaving behind painfully empty spaces in its wake. Giving Will one last look, Hannibal closed the door behind him, a fleeting glimpse of Chiyoh waiting expectantly at the far end of the hallway corridor. _Do not worry_ , Hannibal had asked of him. The young man brought his fingers to his lips, touching his mouth absentmindedly. After a long moment of stillness, Will crawled to the head of the bed, curling towards where Hannibal always slept. For the first time since their fall, Will Graham was completely and wholly alone. The home around him- this room and its walls- were void of warmth and livelihood. Touch and comfort were, like Hannibal, whisked away to where Will could not reach.  
  
Solemnly, Will reached to touch, almost cautiously, the pillow where Hannibal nightly laid his head. _Do not worry_ , Will thought again, running the sound of Hannibal's voice again in his mind. Letting the pillow go and turning instead on his back, Will looked vacantly towards the ceiling.

_Do not worry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I always feel blegh about women being attacked for the sake of narrative but let me explain that she nearly fucking maimed him. And, you know, he's gonna be dinner soon. That all being said, we finally got our kiss! Was it worth the wait? Was it, was it? I hope you liked this chapter, gang. As always, tell me how you feel, tell me what you think. Especially because, I think, next chapter we're getting to a place I've been really looking forward to. And- and is it really the end of the fic? God, I kinda...don't want it to be. Give me your words, people.
> 
> By the way, do you feel that the premise of how this isle off the coast of Scotland functions is far-fetched? Think twice, gang. I'm literally basing this off my lived experiences on an isle off the coast of Scotland, haha.


	7. Chapter 7

Chiyoh stared at Will with widened eyes, wind spilling from the open door in chilling gusts. “He was supposed to have returned already,” she told him from the doorway, cautiously teetering into a tone of alarm. “He’s been gone for nearly three hours. _He was supposed to have returned_.“ 

Will readied to speak until the unmistakable shout of a gunshot sounded dully from the distance, interrupting them with nearly kismet timing. Chiyoh looked to Will in static anticipation, taking a deliberate step to block the door behind her when Will motioned towards it to leave. He felt the heat of panic flash over him, the once steady rhythm of his heart accelerate to alarm. How had he sensed this? How had he known something would go awry? How had he let Hannibal go anyway?

“I’m going to find him,” he told her, matching her solidity. “It’s the only way we can get to him without putting you at the scene of the crime.”

Chiyoh’s mouth thinned to a tight frown. “Whatever Hannibal has willingly steeped himself into, I expect he can wade out all the same,” she said bitterly. “What you’re proposing- both of you, out there, together- is sloppy. I told him as much and I will tell you the same.” 

“You sent someone to kill on your behalf- it doesn’t get much sloppier than that.”

Chiyoh gave him a grave look. “What you and Hannibal intend isn’t a killing, it’s a bloodbath. I cannot afford the grandeur you both delight in.”

“I’m going to find him,” Will repeatedly with steely resolve. “You can try to slow me down or you can save your time and help me, instead.”

She did not try to stop him again and she did not try to convince him against his convictions, either. Instead, she lit her home to a warm brilliance and stripped herself of her warm bundles until she was thin and sleek, a slant form in the living room. Chiyoh directed Will to her attackers house only once, blessing him with a knife and sending him away in silence.

Will Graham traveled deftly in the darkness, counting houses and hillslopes, trying to make sense of Chiyoh’s directions. He looked back only once, her house on the hill a waning flicker of light in the cold distance and, turning away, the darkness spasmed and collapsed, if in grief.

* * *

 

There was so much blood. Anything that pertained to Hannibal Lecter was often drenched in carnage, but the crimson that streaked the floor made Will’s heart stop. He followed the path of blood-spill, his grip ironed around his knife, until a small flight of stairs lead downward to a darkened basement, the bottom glowing with the suggestion of light. 

This was as much about self-preservation as it was about making sure Hannibal was alive. _If he’s_ – Will thought vacantly as he descended the stairs, unable to allow the mere concept of Hannibal’s death at someone else’s hand to occupy his thoughts, _if I lose him_ –

Stepping into the basement, Will readied himself to attack but the sight before him disarmed him, instead. Hannibal’s dark shirt glistened in the light, damp from the blood. His face was smeared with blood, his cheek grazed and cut, his knuckles bloodied and sore. Hannibal’s almost-victim, wild eyed and frantic, struggled uselessly against the rope that kept him confined to a chair. Will recognized the pattern of the rope’s burning friction against the man’s skin; the same material he used to rope around Chiyoh’s neck anchored him to a certain death.

“You’ve decided to join me after all,” Hannibal said, still strengthening his victim’s binds. Of course he didn’t have to turn to know that Will was standing behind him. Of course he was unalarmed by Will’s smuggling in. Something primordial worked between them, so that Hannibal could sense Will be sound or scent or sense alone.

Will swallowed thickly, at a loss for words. “We thought- you were supposed to be back already. We thought something went wrong.”

“There was a struggle,” Hannibal conceded. “At the tremendous efforts of our host, my stitches nearly reopened.” 

“You were deliberate in all of this, weren’t you?” Will asked, dejecting Hannibal’s comment to give the flat a long glance. Obvious signs of struggle, a dramatic mess of the place- the first assumption would be that it was a breaking and entering. Nothing about this said personal, nothing about this said vengeance, unless Hannibal would be deliberately high-caliber in the man’s execution. It was vulgar, sloppy, materialist- not at all like Hannibal Lecter. Will shifted uncomfortably, a bitter taste in his mouth. “You could have finished this. You wasted time on purpose- you wanted to see if you could unnerve me, if you could will me to come to you. You had no intention of doing this alone.”

Hannibal turned to Will, then, standing with posture. “Of course not, Will.”

“I told you I couldn’t do this,” Will whispered harshly. The bloodied man gave Will a desperate look, sounding dumbly against the cloth that was tied about his mouth to silence him. Will felt his teeth grit. He wanted to grab the man by his throat and strangle him for the presumption that they were allies, that Will would offer this man any aid. “I told you I couldn’t this right now.”

“You and I stand divided, then. You _can_ do this. You _have_. You’ve finally crossed over the boundaries you spent a lifetime needlessly establishing for yourself and now you are easing yourself back in to old cages. That’s cowardice – dishonesty.”

Will searched Hannibal’s eyes, a mirage of heated emotions clouding him like a fog. “I’ve been more honest with you than I have with anyone else. I’ve let you into the worst things in me. I’ve blinded myself to the worst in you and you can’t do the same –“

“Did you think I would want you deluded?” Hannibal retorted bitterly. “I can’t stand to see you blinded, not after so many years of easing the scales from your eyes. You have seen. You saw when you killed Garret Jacob Hobbs, when you killed Randall Tier, when you swung Frederic before the Dragon’s mouth. You saw, with me, over the bluff- don’t shut your eyes now, Will. ”

“I’ve closed them out of self-preservation,” he said, his anger softening into poisonous lament. “If I look plainly to this- if I recognize that I want this, if I participate- I’ll have opened a hunger that won’t end. I’ve been fighting an uphill battle for years. If I open my eyes, I’ll lose that- I’ll lose the person I am when I fight this, when I have the lucidity to shut my eyes.” 

Hannibal drew closer to him, placing his hands over Will’s own, their fingers intertwined over Chiyoh’s blade. They stood intimately near one another, turned to each other as if alone at the end of the world. Touching foreheads with him, Hannibal closed his eyes, a hand to Will’s neck in an act of unrequited affection. Will was stiff beside him, hardening to a cold malice.

 When they, together, turned back to the man who sat before them, something in their very postures had changed. They were someone else, something the man could not recognize, and something that frightened him in a gutting instinctual way, like staring down the mouth of a voracious beast.

* * *

 

They walked home through the darkness together, a rift hanging heavily between them. Their bedroom appeared smaller, somehow, as if rounded by their absence. Will felt as though something seismic shifted within his very core. This place, he realized, was all too small now, nearly suffocating. It was time for this room to unlearn them. 

Will navigated through the pitch-darkness of their room, ignoring his partner and stalking straight into the bathroom. After Will gave the shower valve a sharp turn, steam quickly vapored in the air, hot water spattering in a steady spray. He disrobed sulkily, shocked by his own resentfulness. He wanted nothing to do with Hannibal. He wanted everything, too, the man could offer. He wanted to bite down into his neck. He wanted to be swept up entirely in his arms. Will tried to measure how one person could possibly contain such divided things.

A familiar knock against the bathroom door shook Will from his thoughts. He didn’t turn to Hannibal as he entered the bathroom wordlessly; Will only pulled his shirt off and threw it sloppily on the floor. He reached for his pants hastily, tugging at his belt with ungracious struggle. Another yank but it wouldn’t give, another fumble at the belt and his grip slipped- he felt stupid in his hastiness.

Hannibal laid his hand Will’s forearm, motioning for him to still. Will deliberately avoid his eyes as Hannibal undid his belt for him. Hannibal carried on, eased the buttons of Will’s pants, and gave Will reign again. They stood together in shared stillness, close enough to touch, and a long moment of silence hung between them.

Will felt something within him ease and, remembering himself, gave Hannibal a covert look- his hands were bloodied and bruise, his fingernails dirtied red. His shirt was stained and damp with blood and sweat. A bruise colored Hannibal’s neck and, as Will allowed his gaze to follow upwards, one of his cheeks was cut and bruised from what was unmistakably a hard punch.

“Was this intentional, too?” Will asked, exhaustedly. “Is seeing you hurt the consequence of denying you? Or is that what you are without me?”

Hannibal regarded him with shared exhaustion, shaking his head minutely. He wouldn’t apologize. He wouldn’t clarify the lines between manipulation and collateral damage. He raised a hand to touch Will’s check, instead, with sore affection. “I have no interest in doing this without you, Will.”

Will sighed, leaning closer, his hands balling around the material of Hannibal’s shirt in one last demonstration of anger. Then, his hands slacked. Will allowed himself to be held, Hannibal framing Will’s face in his two hands. Closing his eyes, Will let himself be kissed: a chaste thing, a quiet reminder of their capacity for tenderness. It cooled the fire in Will’s blood to a dying smoke.

Their silence slowly dissolved into a deep affection. Between kisses, Will’s breath found itself and, though he wanted to speak plainly to Hannibal, he felt as though something fragile hung between them and speaking would break it. Will returned his kisses, instead, each touch of their lips longer than the last as a heat steadily built between them.

Mustering his resolve, Will hummed against Hannibal’s lips and turned away when the man sought to kiss him again. Ducking to catch Hannibal’s gaze just once, Will eased his hands underneath his clothing, his fingers wandering hungrily over Hannibal’s skin. Will took his time undressing him, easing his shirt off carefully, and undoing his pants with only a touch of impatience.

Holding Hannibal’s hand, Will lead him into the shower, letting the bad blood between them dilute into the fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, bad news! Bad news: this chapter was a struggle. Maybe that's in honor of the fact that our protagonists have had a struggle. They mutually influence each other. If Hannibal's embrace of wickedness incites Will to do the same, Will's hesitance, I think, can curb Hannibal in small measures. I don't know if I paid the right homage to that. They did kill Chiyoh's attacker. It's something Will is still struggling to accept he delights in. 
> 
> Good news: I've expanded the story to ten chapters, at least. It's growing in the telling. Better news: next chapter is going to be fun. Shower shenanigans and body worship, two of my faaaaves and something I was planning since the start of this fic. That chapter will probably come by the weekend, instead of our usual Wednesday.
> 
> As always, give me your feedback if you so please. I hope I didn't lose too many of you in this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it. Your comments and kudos and visits are literally the highlights of my day. As always, find me on tumblr @ Marsza.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a word for this sort of sweetness, but it didn’t exist in English. Holding each other under the spray of the water, Hannibal mumbled foreign words into Will’s hair, kissing him thoughtfully before Will slipped out of his arms. Will always had a capacity for this, Hannibal thought- he seemed infinitely capable of bringing Hannibal to the very boundaries of himself, to the very end of language and reason. Reaching for the shampoo bottle, he gave Hannibal a backwards glance; the crimson that stained Hannibal’s skin melted quickly under the run of water, the shower pattering hotly from above. Soon, all this blood and violence would be lost in the drain. Soon, they would leave this place together and let its memory settle in the dust.

The shampoo built into a rich lather, suds bubbling beneath Will’s fingers as he massaged gently into Hannibal’s scalp. Hannibal leaned into the affection with closed eyes, indulgent under Will’s touch. It was an image of tenderness and trust, a warm demonstration that made something flutter in Will’s chest. When the last bubbles dwindled away, Will leaned forward to kiss him softly on the lips.

“We could’ve done this from the start,” Will sighed. “There were times I wanted to, times I thought of you and wished.”

“When?” Hannibal asked, cupping his hands when Will offered him a dose of shampoo. He returned the favor dutifully, washing the dirt and blood from Will’s hair, running water and soap through thick curls.

“When you told me to leave with you, three years ago. I thought about you again when woke up, long after you were gone. I went back to your house and each room had your shadow,” Will said. “I thought about you when I was alone. I thought about you in the catacombs of that church, knowing that if I saw you I wouldn’t have let you go. I thought it’d stop when I met Molly but you stayed with me. I carried you around with me everywhere I went.”

Will tipped his head back as Hannibal rinsed his hair. “You believed me when I said I wouldn’t look for you, when I lied and told you I wouldn’t think of you anymore- I thought you’d have known that I didn’t have the choice.”

Hannibal smiled at him, his hand on Will’s cheek. “Clever boy,” he told him, swiping his thumb over Will’s wet lips before kissing him there curtly. “What a terrible thing you are.”

They lathered each other up with soap, the eucalyptus smell of their body wash rising sweetly between them. They watched the soap rinse away, entranced at the sight of each other’s bodies, of the still-new familiarity between them. Will lingered over Hannibal’s hands- beautiful hands, hands he adored and fear and hungered for. Will watched those hands move over Hannibal’s own body, unable to look away as he spread the lather over the expanse of his chest, the masculine solidity of his neck. Will noticed, too, that Hannibal watched him just as thoughtfully, a wanting in the eyes that lingered over Will’s chest, over his hips, over his abdomen.

"You're entirely too beautiful," Hannibal said to him, smiling even when the man regarded him with narrowed eyes and, flustered, looked away. "You're entirely too unaware of it, too, Will."

Will stepped towards him and Hannibal did the same, meeting one another in the middle to cling to each other tightly.  "I'm aware of you," Will offered. "I"m aware of how you look at me. I'm aware of how you make me feel - aware of what I want to do to you, sometimes, and aware of what I want you to do to me."

Their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths met in a slur of kiss over kiss over kiss. Will slotted their hips together, deliberate in the press of their groans, pleased when Hannibal broke their kiss to sound breathlessly against Will’s cheek. Will bit his lip thoughtfully, his arousal emboldening him. He leaned to kiss him again, threading fingers back into Hannibal’s hair before tugging back experimentally to expose the run of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal moaned wantonly, pleased when Will kissed and sucked at the skin of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal turned to return Will’s kisses, gripping at Will’s back so that his nails dug lightly at his skin.

 “Why,” Will sighed breathlessly into Hannibal’s mouth, biting gently on his bottom lip. “Why haven’t you fucked me yet? You asked to kiss me but you haven’t asked –“

Hannibal ran his hands down the expanse of Will’s slim back, hot water and muscle underneath his palms. His fingers dipped into the small of his back and the dimples there, tipping teasingly downwards. “Do you want me to fuck you, Will?”

The word sounded foreign coming from Hannibal, strange in its inelegance and rounded by accent and the timber of his voice. It hit Will like a punch to the gut. “Yes,” Will said, after a moment’s pause. “Yeah, I do- I want that –“ 

Hannibal turned them and pressed Will against the cool tiles of the wall beneath the showerhead, his chest pressed hotly against Will’s back. He brought his mouth to Will’s ear, his teeth phantoming over skin, delighting in Will’s shudder. “Tell me again, Will.”

Will closed his eyes as Hannibal kissed the line of jaw, turning his face so that their lips met again, moving faster and harder together as Hannibal’s hands slipped down Will’s back and gripped at his ass. “I want- _fuck_ – “ Will sighed, his moan a breathless hitch, “I want you to fuck me, Hannibal.” 

Hannibal bit down on Will’s shoulder and pushed his hardening erection into Will’s thigh, the two of them falling into a rhythm of movement. Will spread his legs then, embarrassed by own neediness and audibly frustrated when Hannibal didn’t follow through. Hannibal kissed his shoulder, instead, proud of the faint pinkness there. Kneading at Will’s ass in two handfuls, Hannibal kissed a line down the man’s spine, inching downwards until he was all but kneeling behind him. “Not now,” Hannibal told him, kissing at the base of Will’s back, “not unprepared.”

Will groaned impatiently, bracing himself against the wall with his arms, his face hidden into the crook of his elbow. Hannibal caught a glimpse of his face, eyes tightly shut, brows furrowed, his cheeks reddened and flush. “Jesus, that doesn’t fucking matter – “

Hannibal suckled at the skin of Will’s hip, his left hand snaking round to find Will’s stiff cock. The water poured between them, still hot. “It matters,” Hannibal said matter-of-factly. “And I want you on our bed for that.”

Will groaned at the idea of it, a vision of them, all tangled sheets and pressed limbs, flashing in his mind. “This is bullshit, you just- you’re giving me a taste of my own medicine for not fucking kissing you.” 

“Perhaps,” he conceded, a smile in his voice. He tugged at Will with torturous languidness, the water adding to the sleek fluidity of his work. Will readied to complain again, but a broken moan spilled forward from his lips instead as Hannibal released him without warning. Will leaned back anxiously, mourning the loss of contact.

“Hannibal,” Will sighed to no response. The pattering the water sounded against the floor, Will becoming hyperaware of sensation as Hannibal deliberately delayed his touch. Then, wordlessly, Hannibal kissed the skin of his back again, his hands over Will’s ass again, kneading and spreading them in a growing pace. Will let his head fall back, directly under the spray of the water, as the fingertips of one hand brushed lightly over his hole, rubbing in circular motions.

Hannibal kissed him again, traveling downwards, peppering Will’s skin with kisses while his fingers kept their work, playfully lingering over Will a little longer each time. This would be slow, Will realized, and steady. A glimpse of what Hannibal would later offer. “More,” Will sighed. “Please, more. You’re- _oh_ , _fuck_ – you’re not gonna scare me away.”

Hannibal touched him again, feeling Will’s muscle give some way. Then, gripping Will’s ass, his mouth replaced the work of his fingers. Will gasped loudly, pressing helplessly against the tile wall as he felt the hot dampness of Hannibal’s tongue moving against his opening in slow, gentle exploration. 

Will swore, expletives spilling out of his mouth in a incoherent ramble. Hannibal hummed against him, his face pressed intimately against Will while his tongue worked its way into his opening. The sensation, strange and new but shocking in its pleasure, was enough to make Will’s knees buckle helplessly.

“Hannibal, please, please – “ Will moaned, as felt Hannibal’s tongue breach the ring of muscle completely now. He coupled his efforts with an index finger, thrusting into him with quickening resolve. Will pounded a fist against the wall weakly, speechless and overcome when something in Hannibal’s ministrations stuck and resounded, pleasure washing over Will like a crashing wave. Hannibal was deliberate with his advances, attentive when he touched the bundle of nerves there and intentional, too, when he denied Will that contact, instead. 

With a shaking hand, Will brought a hand down to take hold of himself, his cock painfully hard. As Hannibal added a second finger to work into him alongside his tongue, Will felt as though his breathless moans were being punched out him, the sensation quickly more than he could bare. Will’s hand stuttered over his length, quickly becoming too wrecked to maintain any steadiness. When Hannibal used his free hand to pull Will closer still, fucking into him deeper, Will all but sobbed into the crook of his arm. 

“I’m close,” he warned, his voice shaking with every thrust against his prostate. “I’m so fucking close and you- you’re so good, _ah_ – oh, you’re so fucking good to me – “

Hannibal groaned against Will’s skin, then, faltering before putting his mouth on Will again. Pressing in and eating him out again, sensing the growing tension that was coiling in Will, soon to culminate, Hannibal added a third finger with careful deliberation. Will moaned at the addition, trembling terribly, crying Hannibal’s name like a mantra. His head falling back again, his face flushed and his eyes stinging with tears that welled at the sheer over-sensation if it all, Will came with one last, desperate cry. 

Hannibal eased out of him slowly, aware of the tender sensitivity of what they’d done. Giving Will’s back one last kiss, he stood upright, turning Will to face him. They embraced under the shower of the water again, Hannibal gripping the back of Will’s head as the breathless man leaned listlessly against his shoulder. They held each other in silence, pressed completely against one another. Still panting, Will turned his face to Hannibal’s cheek, a chaste kiss there interrupted by gasps for breath. 

“You,” Will spoke weakly, the feel of Hannibal's length still firm against his hip. “You didn’t – now you –“ 

“We don’t have to,” Hannibal told him, nuzzling against him tenderly.

“No,” Will sighed into the corner of Hannibal’s mouth. “No, I want to. I want you – I want you to fuck me. I want you to take me to bed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lesson for today: Lube's important. Don't let fic fool you into thinking that full-on action can be had without the proper lubrication. I have read too many shower scenes where people use shampoo or body wash as lubricant and it pains me, people. It pains me. Thankfully, our friendly neighborhood murder husbands are here to make a difference. 
> 
> That being said, um!! dirty chapter again! Another dirty chapter to come! Um!! This is crazy, I never thought I'd be writing so much sex but here I am. As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me how you feel about it! Um, well, maybe there isn't much to feel about a chapter that's straight-fowardly about sex but, alas. Your comments, kudos, and visits are my lifeblood! I would never have made it this far without your support!


	9. Chapter 9

They tumbled into bed together blindly, clumsy with their affections. For the first time in years, Will laughed illustriously, without a touch of sorrow or measure, Hannibal’s mouth on his neck in a place that made him shudder and squirm. His laugh- loud, sincere- took them both aback. Hannibal pulled away from the crook of Will’s neck and watched him with wide-eyes, drinking in the sight of Will’s flushed face, his light eyes narrowing, now insecure, under a swipe of long lashes.

“You’re ticklish,” Hannibal whispered against his neck, where water dripped from Will’s dark curls. “I didn’t know that you were.”

Will laced his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, who had maneuver himself atop of Will’s welcoming form. Will took in the weight of him and smiled in satisfaction. “There’s plenty of things you don’t know about me,” he offered, intentional in his coyness.

Hannibal considered him, drinking in the sight of his darkened eyes, the still-wet skin of his chest, the allure of his bareness. “Did Alana know that about you, Will? Did Margot?” he asked then. Molly’s name hung in the air between them, an omission Will saw through with ease. “Did they ever come to know you as I do?”

“They knew me in ways they could understand,” Will allowed. He turned his face away when Hannibal bent to kiss him, denying him. “Does it bother you that I would let someone else know me, Doctor Lecter? Does it bother you that I already have?”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed darker at the name. He leaned in, wholly covering Will’s body with his own, and kissed across Will’s turned face, following the line of his jaw until he reached his ear. “Yes,” he whispered, rolling his hips against Will, then, and Will could have come from the _want_ he heard in his voice. “You are a part of myself I’ve never wanted to extend to anyone else.” 

Will laced his fingers together, anchored over Hannibal’s neck. They rose and fell against each other, synchronized in how they rutted against one another, steady like waves- they pressed against each other so that the friction snapped at them like ice. “You’re cruel – you’re fucking _selfish_ , Hannibal. You’ve ruined me for other people,” Will sighed, raising his chin when Hannibal bent to nip at his jaw. “The truth is no one was like you. No one sees me as you do. You’ve ruined me.”

“Say that to me again,” Hannibal said, kissing him deeply as if drinking him in. One of Hannibal’s hands came between them, treading downwards to Will’s hip. Will’s heart thrummed against his chest, something inside him trembling with anticipation. 

Before Will could speak, Hannibal gripping at his behind like he had done before in the shower- bolder now, though, so that the crescent-moon lines of his nails dug into Will’s skin just enough to pepper the pleasure with pain. Will gasped audibly, jerking upwards, spreading his legs in desperate invitation. “You – you’ve ruined me. There’s no one else but you for me now. There’s no one else, _oh_ \- “ 

Hannibal let go of him, satisfied with the wanting noise that Will made immediately upon release. Reaching over above Will, Hannibal pulled a pillow down, settling it under Will’s head.   
  
“Come here,” Will sighed, touching Hannibal's neck hungrily, rising up to kiss him but met with denial. “Come here, come . . .“

Hannibal moved away further still, out of reach. The sound of the bedside drawer opening and closing sounded in the otherwise silent room. Hannibal returned to him, cruelly ignoring the younger man's attempts at leaning upwards for a kiss. Pushing Will onto his back with one hand, instead, Hannibal traced a steady line down the expanse of Will’s thigh with the other. He took his time swallowing the naked sight of him in.The frenzy of the last hour melted between them and, in its place, something steadier, something warm settled between them. Will spread his legs wider as Hannibal settled between them, peppering Will’s thighs with kisses. Turning upwards, avoiding the area of Will’s growing and visible need, he kissed at Will’s stomach, at the smooth line of a scar there. 

Will tilted his hips up, urging Hannibal to hurry, sighing his name desperately. "You don't have to stare so much," Will admonished, visibly taken aback by the adoration in Hannibal's gaze. "Just hurry."

"Be patient," Hannibal chided with a shake of his head. "I had no promise this moment would come. I have to enjoy you, Will. We deserve as much, you and I." Reaching forward, Hannibal placed a kiss to Will's sternum, the hollow in his collarbone, the rise of his pectoral. Then, growing bold, he bent down to swipe his tongue over Will’s right nipple experimentally, running his teeth down the sensitive skin there with tortuous delay. Noise poured out of Will’s mouth at that, sweet sounds filling the air that seemed to burn hot now over Will’s form. He bit at the pink nub that hardened beneath his tongue, relishing in the noise of them. Hannibal’s eyes darted upwards, then, turning to Will’s other nipple with a groan. Will looked debauched, a hand fisted in his own hair, the other over his mouth, a white line of teeth clamped over his knuckles.

“Fuck, Hannibal – “ Will all but whimpered, his head falling back as Hannibal gripped at his ass again, his attentions swiftly running south so that open-mouthed kissed followed the line of dark hair that peppered Will’s lower stomach. Will shook his head, beyond the point of words, aware that, if he let him, Hannibal would take Will into his mouth again. 

“No,” Will hissed, grabbing Hannibal by the hair then and stopping him before he could move any further down. “I don’t – I want to come with you inside me.”

Hannibal looked at him, faltering as if temporarily stunned. Sitting upright, he reached for a small bottle that Will hadn’t realized was besides him. He poured the liquid into his left hand and then rubbed his hands together, warming the lube to touch. Will closed his eyes, anxious despite the desire that was boiling underneath his skin. When slick, warm fingers touched his cock, Will’s back reflexively arched. Hannibal’s hand traveled down his length, only teasing him, before one hand took careful grip of him, tugging with slick ease. Will bit down on his lip with a broken moan, struggling in vain to mind his voice. Will shuddered violently as he felt Hannibal’s other hand, then- a damp index finger teasing at his opening. 

Hannibal’s work in the shower had made a difference- there was less resistance now and less fear. But, Hannibal’s hand kept its work over his shaft as he pushed further inside, withdrawing a bit only to push once more. “Hannibal,” Will whispered, his voice shaking, his eyes cast upwards towards the ceiling. “You’ve – you’ve wanted this from the start – “ 

“Yes,” the other man said, voice warm with emotion. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, Will, from the moment Jack first spoke your name to me.”

Will gasped and arched up as Hannibal’s index finger pushed inside of him completely and his left thumb stroked around the base of Will’s cock. The finger in his ass started to move in a gentle circular motion. Will sighed and raised his hips again, indulging in the sensation. “Another now– more.”

Hannibal nodded, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Lining his index and middle finger together, he pushed them inside of Will’s relaxed hole slowly, his palm facing upwards. Will nodded, almost feverish with the feeling. The pace was too slow, Hannibal's attentions too delicate. He wanted more. “Please, _Hannibal_ –“  

The fingers inside him started to push into a rhythm, in and out in a quickening pace. Hannibal, always so measured, was starting to quicken. Will bit his lip and smiled, giving a shift of his hips. “Another,” he said, then. “Please, one more, another one –“ 

“Too soon,” Hannibal reminded him, his voice betraying an inward conflict. He wanted to hurry. He was losing resolve. Will sighed his name again, intentional in its deliberation. Hannibal laughed breathlessly, beside himself. Pulling his digits out, Hannibal fit his ring finger snuggly besides the rest, breaching Will slowly. He watched as Will’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. He smiled when Will relaxed his muscles to welcome the intrusion. Slowly but surely, they settled into a steady comfort, Will's pleasuring sounding to a steady melody of sighs and moans. When Hannibal curled his fingers to finally make contact with Will’s prostate, the dark-haired man jerked forward and cried loudly. 

He made contact against that bundle of nerves one more time, twice then, thrice- then, with Will at the near point of tears, Hannibal slipped one finger out of him. Still working in and out of him, Hannibal took back yet another finger. He pulled out of him slowly, easing until he was out of Will completely, bending down to kiss Will before he could complain about the loss.

Sitting up once more, Hannibal reached for the bottle again. Will braced himself on his forearms, sitting up just enough to watch as the lubricant was spread between two hands again. Will watched as Hannibal took hold of himself, his thick length reddened and swollen with need. Will wanted to kiss Hannibal with sympathy and, in a way that surprised him, wanted to praise him. He felt a sort of vanity swell at the pit of himself, a capacity for authority over Hannibal that he hadn’t quite expected. _Next time_ , he thought. Next time, he’d deliberately make him wait. Next time, Will would take Hannibal apart with wanting. 

Hannibal leaned down over him again, covering Will’s body with his own. His skin was so warm, Will realized as if distantly, his chest muscle and hair and solidity over Will’s own. Will wanted this man entirely, without knowing how or when this hunger became so primordial- no one had warned him. No one had told Will he'd want this man in every way a person could. A sensation, a sharp and alarming feeling shook him from his thoughts- Hannibal’s cock nudged against Will’s opening, and for a moment, they stared at one another, unmoving.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered then, bringing a hand to the man’s cheek, “You’ve waited so long. You’ve taken everything from me. You’ve marked me, you’ve ruined me- fuck, _you’ve waited so long-_ “  
  
Will gasped as the tip of Hannibal’s member pressed at his hole, bridging him for the first time. Hannibal cradled the back of Will’s head, a gesture that brought an onslaught of memories to them both. Will leaned into Hannibal’s neck, his eyes watering and clamping shut against a rise of tears. Will felt a dampness against his own shoulder, he could hear the shudder of what sounded so much like sob as Hannibal pushed in, entering him.

Hannibal kept a motion, easing in and out of Will; in and out, in and out, until Will had finally adjusted to his girth and taken him in completely, Hannibal’s cock fully settled inside of him. They moaned together then, jointly overwhelmed. Their sounds filled the room, shrouded in darkness, the moonlight illuminating them both in pale blue measure.

“I would do it again,” Hannibal sighed, exhaling as he pushed slow but steady into him- a treacherously slow pace, Will thought, but one that quelled away the slight burning. Will arched upwards against him. “I would lose all of it again, would break you again, would stop your heart with how cruel I could be for this. I’d do it for this. The years imprisoned- _oh, Will_ – the years I spent waiting for you to come back to me-“

Will moaned, his voice cracking with strain as Hannibal thrust into him sharply. “I thought of you the whole time,” he swore, “imagined you at night. Thought of calling you, thought of seeing you again. Wished I could’ve gone back in time and chosen again –" 

Hannibal sighed Will’s name over and over, speaking it reverently as if the syllable was a sacrament, gasping breathlessly when Will’s legs wrapped around his waist and the heels of his feet dug into Hannibal’s ass. Will’s hips rose to the motions, grounding down against him as much as he could, groaning when Hannibal pushed into him more deeply than before, whining sharply when he’d withdraw. The sensation stung only slightly, the pain paling in comparison to the overwhelming pleasure of being filled and held by the man on top of him.

Using the hands that rested against Will’s sides, Hannibal pulled almost completely out of Will and, running his hands under to the small of Will’s back, lifted him slightly upwards to an angle. Then, he leaned forward to kiss Will, thrusting inside of him in several long, steady movements that made Will’s toes curl.

“God, _oh fuck_ ,” Will sighed, throwing his head back, the tempo of their movements increasing to frenzy. He gasped sharply, as if wounded, when a thrust hit its mark precisely, triggering a flash of sharp, immeasurable pleasure. “Ah, please again –“ 

Hannibal complied, pulling out slowly, almost entirely, then pushing all the way in again almost violently and setting them both into unison of moans. Will cried Hannibal’s name, losing control of his mouth, his words becoming a tripping run of sound and pleads for more. Hannibal, stuttering in his movements now, becoming undone, reached at the scant space between their stomachs and took Will’s cock into his hand. He jacked at as best he could, his own voice cracking and giving heed to a culmination.

Hannibal tried to speak, interrupted by his own harsh breathlessness. His free hand dug into Will’s scant hip, hard enough to bruise and he leaned to kiss Will’s jaw, panting against him there. “I’m close, Will,” he sighed, a warning between other words- beautiful ones, sharp ones- that Will couldn’t understand. 

Will nodded desperately, fighting for words as Hannibal pounded into him enough that they began to move upwards towards the headboard. The dampness that collected on his eyelashes swelled, tears swelling up to spill. In his mind’s eyes, the usual darkness was being blasted with light, as if the intimacy and heat of their touches was setting explosions in the night. He moaned Hannibal’s name more than he could account for, his voice hoarse with crying out.

“Come,” Will pleaded, “please, please- inside me, I want you to come inside me – “ 

Hannibal hit against Will’s prostate with a groan, his thumb sweeping over the head of Will’s cock, and the younger man’s heart thrummed as if to the point of bursting. His senses spilled to a climax, his body electric with the force of his orgasm as he came onto their stomachs in hot bursts. One, two, three more thrusts came, leaving Will absolutely breathless and overwhelmed, his hands clamping tight over Hannibal’s arms. Then, with a shared cry, Will felt as Hannibal came inside him. He watched him intently through the haze of his own climax, amazed by the sight of Hannibal unraveled and undone. Entranced, Will reached forward, kissing the side of Hannibal’s parted mouth, drinking in the sounds of his satisfaction with delight. 

They kissed. They held one another for a long while, anchored tightly against the other just as they were before, under the full moon, when ocean waves threatened to consume them. Entangled, they fought to catch their breaths and, with lazy indulgence, kissed one another languidly over and over again. 

Turning off of him and lying by Will’s side instead, Hannibal joined Will in a shared, unmoving silence. They both gasped softly with closed eyes, their hearts slowing down to a regular thrum. Absentmindedly, Will brought his hand almost sheepishly to the back of his two thighs, his fingers curious against the dampness there. Hannibal, in turn, mustered the strength to pull at their bed sheets. Together, sloppy in their exhaustion, they pulled what was soiled away and covered the mattress, instead, with the quilt that had been left untouched.

Hannibal turned to Will, then, and laid a kiss on Will’s neck, his lips lingering over the thrumming of his pulse. “It’s dark,” Will said, raising a hand to thread through Hannibal’s hair. “It’s dark but I see you. In the expanse of nightmares that rest behind my eyes, there’s you. There’s us.”

Hannibal nuzzled against Will’s neck, his lips upturned in a smile. “Us, together,” he spoke like an oath, like an unequivocal promise. “Us together, Will, or there’s nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy. Stephen King said that writing is a bit like shoveling- I feel like I've just done a lot of work and I'm satisfied with this as an end result. Last chapter, we didn't get much talking between these two so this chapter allowed for a bit more of that. I'm happy for it. 
> 
> I hope you all liked this chapter! The next one is our last, my loves. Thank you so much for sticking through for so long. We're almost there, gang, we're almost at our end. As always, please comment! Please tell me you liked this labor of love! Especially now, that we're nearing to our close. Truly, I'm so thankful for all of you for hanging on for so long. 
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr w the handle: Marsza. I even made a nifty photoset for this fic. Also, shoutout to Lana Del Rey's Honeymoon album for being such a great backdrop for this chapter. Sultry music galore.


	10. Chapter 10

There was an inherent beauty to the way Hannibal occupied space. He moved in the kitchen with all the deliberation and grace of a dancer. But the sight of him there, knife gleaming brilliantly in his hand, triggered a sorrow in Will, a bitterness dusted with time and complicated emotions- Will absentmindedly ran his palm over his stomach, the fabric of his shirt soft against the scarred skin of his stomach underneath. 

“Would you like to help me, Will?” Hannibal asked then, looking over his shoulder to catch Will’s glance. Hannibal looked easier now, somehow softer with content. Will considered him silently- the honey warmth of his eyes, his hair peppered grey, his beautiful hands, the line of Hannibal’s mouth that Will had spent the morning hour kissing.

Hannibal was _happy_ , Will knew, and when Will stood by his side at the kitchen counter, he felt as if that happiness spilled off in waves. “You helped procure today’s meal,” Hannibal said, “I think, perhaps, you ought to be involved in the preparation as well.” 

Will gave the marble countertop a long glance; the smell of spices and fresh vegetables filled the air. The cutting board was damp with water that still shone off uncut scallions and peppers. “I don’t have your same dexterity here. I can chop some vegetables for you, if you want, but anything beyond that and you’re risking the meal.”

“What of all your experience as a fishermen? Didn’t you cook then?” 

Will gave Hannibal a look. “We’re not cooking _fish_ , Hannibal.”

“That we’re not,” Hannibal agreed lightly. “Can I ask you to cut the scallions, then?”

Will drew the cutting board closer to himself in easy agreement. He took Hannibal’s knife, dismissing the potential discourtesy in that, and readied to work. Realizing that the man beside him was still and staring, Will faltered.

“You’re not going to watch me do this, are you?” Will asked, frowning. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

Hannibal smiled at him, cleaning his hands over his apron. He turned to the refrigerator, taking hold of a large bowl of well-marinated meat. “I’m don’t look at you in want of error, Will.”

Will rolled his eyes, narrowing his focus on the task at hand and very obviously ignoring when Hannibal stopped again to stare. An awkward moment of silence stretched between them, a slight tension bringing warmth to Will’s face. “For God’s sake _, stop staring_ ,” he groaned. 

“You’ve got to curl your subordinate hand as your cut,” Hannibal said with the slightest hint of hesitation. “It will lessen the risk of catching your fingers on the blade and it will better the slice, too. 

“What happened to not finding error in me?”

Hannibal set the bowl aside then, taking his place behind Will so that he chest was pressed firmly against Will’s back. Resting his chin over Will’s shoulder, he brought his arms around the man, his hands lying gently over Will’s own. “It’s not an error in you, only in your technique. A common mistake.” 

Will found himself at a loss of reply, focused instead on the way Hannibal’s hands eclipsed his own. Curling his hand into a clawed roundness, Hannibal silently instructed Will to follow suite and then, satisfied by the change in Will’s hand position, had them take hold of the Santoku knife together.

“What a cheap excuse to press against me,” Will scoffed as they cut through the green onions easily.

“Do I need an excuse to touch you?” Hannibal asked. “Would you still like me to ask you nicely before I touch you, Will, or should I wait until you ask me?” 

Will took a steady breath, deliberately trying to stay focused on the motions of the knife in their hands. It was a disaster; he felt too aware of the warmth of Hannibal’s body against his own, of how their chests rose and fell with united breath, and how Hannibal had so allusively brought his mouth to Will’s shoulder, kissing lightly there. 

“Where would you go, Will, if we could go anywhere?” Hannibal asked then, turning to nose at Will’s neck. “What corner of the world would you want to make your own?”

Will stopped cutting, shuddering when Hannibal’s soft breath against his neck brought on a rising chill. “I thought I was the only who had begun to feel as if this place had become smaller. You want to leave, too, then.” 

Hannibal hummed an affirmation, pressing his lips to Will’s jugular vein to feel how it pulsed beneath his mouth. “We’ve excited the waters of Chiyoh’s world and now our place in it has become vague. What we’ve left behind tends towards erosion and ruin. What the future holds, however, is entirely up to us both. We could find a place for ourselves, Will, and make a life there until you feel our walls have become small once again.”

Will put down the knife, sighing audibly as the Hannibal continued to kiss at his neck. “I walked through all the spaces I knew you occupied, years before I met you- I saw a house you lived in, once. I met Mischa, covered in earth and the light of fireflies. I saw Florence, however dimly- I want to see those places again one day. I want you to explain them to me.”

“And at present?” Hannibal asked, then, turning Will around so that they were facing one another. “Where will we be until that day comes?”

Will looked away, visions of far-away places rushing through his mind. “Some place warm, I think. Some place you’ve never been to before so we can uncover it at the same time. “

Hannibal brought their hands together again; raising them to his lips, Hannibal watched Will consider his next words. He kissed the back of Will’s hands chastely and then lingered over each of Will’s fingertips, the beautiful digits of his hands pressed temptingly over Hannibal’s lips.

“Denmark. Bolivia. India,” Will said then, his eyes brilliant from where the light shone upon them.  “Argentina, if you want. Just as long as you’ve never been there before.”

Hannibal studied him closely, reserved, until Will leaned forward. “Argentina, then,” he said, meeting Will halfway so that their lips met with the promise that was unfurling between them. “We’ll go to Argentina and later, when Uncle Jack has grown tired of dead ends, I’ll show you Florence and you will show me New Orleans.”

Will took a deep breath, stunted by the prospect of returning to Louisiana. Slowly, he rose to brush his lips against Hannibal’s own, meeting him in rushed, but tender kiss. A silent foreboding settled in his chest, giving Will the sense that they would never see this house again. The isle would be long forgotten and they would not lay eyes on Chiyoh for a long, long time. The prospect of leaving gave rise to a tenderness Will hadn’t known he had developed; this house had seen his feverish healing and had been witness, too, to the first moment in which he and Hannibal had breached the boundaries of a tension that simmered for only so long before combusting into flame.

Distantly, he remembered Hannibal’s office and he imagined, too, their chairs suspended in stillness and gathering dust. The melancholy made Will pull Hannibal close, gripping tightly at the fabric of his shirt. Pressed against the countertop, Will felt its edge dig painfully into his back. He winced, relieved when Hannibal’s hands anchored on the small of his waist and holstered him up to sit on the marble surface. The heat and hurry between them quickened, Will sighing against Hannibal’s mouth as he threaded his fingers possessively through his hair, legs spreading to allow Hannibal to slot between them.

“We’ll go to Argentina, then,” Hannibal repeated, the words hot against Will’s mouth. “We’ll go together this time, like we were meant to, like I had allotted to you once before.”

Will sighed, catching Hannibal’s bottom lip between his own and biting there. Distantly, he heard the front door sound with the turning of a key. “The food,” Will reminded them both, smiling into a breathless kiss. “We’re supposed to be cooking.”

They broke apart, their scant breathing audible as they clung onto each other all the while. Hannibal let will down from the countertop and, after readjusting his apron, turned stiffly to the stove. Will smiled at the other man’s obvious discomfort, the tension at pit of his core dwindling as returned to the cutting board. 

He gave the bowl beside him a long glance, the meat within it tender and red. From the hallway corridor, the intelligible sounds of conversation murmured low, Chiyoh’s intonation entwined with another feminine voice. When she finally closed the door behind her, Chiyoh greeted them minutely, a beat in her stride that Will hadn’t ever seen before. Will lingered over the sight of her neck where the once-bruises there had already begun to fade. As Chiyoh washed her hands, readying to help in the kitchen, Will returned to the work of his knife, the metal reflecting the slight hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

 

Chiyoh sat at the very center of the dinning room table, her place at the table the middlepoint between Will and Hannibal’s designated places. The dark oak wood was polished beautifully, a dull reflection suggesting the whiteness of their plates, the scarlet of her dress, the shine of their wine glasses. 

A wine bottle sounded with its opening, the only sound preceding Hannibal’s long-awaited reappearance from the kitchen. He filled their glasses generously before settling into his seat with a courteous smile.

“Hannibal and I have spoken,” she explained then, spreading a napkin across her lap and glancing at Will Graham, “and I have taken the measure of finding you documentation. You’ll have to go by different names for a long while. I took care to assure you both were given good ones.”

“You’ve _renamed_ us,” Will said, giving his plate a glance. The food glowed with warmth and color, its aroma watering in his mouth.  “That’s fitting. We’ve all but been reborn by your hand.” 

“You’re much like birds,” she told him. “I cannot keep you encaged forever. Now that your wings have healed, I’m to let you go.”

“Birds?” Will said, giving her an incredulous look before taking hold of his utensils. He dug his fork into the meat on his plate, watched the plate redden with its slight moisture. “Tamers seel their birds. Two men have died at our hands in less than a month. You’ve hardly concerned yourself with that.”  
  
She raised her wineglass to her lips, taking a curt sip. “I have no interest in binding birds, only assuring that their talons do not dig into my arm when I tend to them. I cannot change your nature, just as you cannot change mine.”

“What will you do when we are gone, Chiyoh?” Hannibal asked, watching appreciatively as she tended to her plate, pausing momentarily before taking a bite of what Hannibal had prepared for them. She considered the taste, eating with awareness, before repeating the motion.

“There is a woman,” she told them, measuring her words. A smile graced her expression; so subtle it could almost be overlooked. “I will make due in you absence. I think I’ve grown accustomed to the presence of others, however slightly. I’ve spent most of my life alone- a ward to others but unattended to myself. I’d like to change that. I’d like to fill this house with life of my own.”

Will considered her, then. He took in the sight of her, as if attempting to memorize her image. Between them three was the silent understand that a long time would pass before their paths crossed again, if at all. Will imagined a life with Hannibal, considering the danger and the risk of their actions only briefly. Capture would always hang as a foggy threat around them. Death, too, and separation.

“There is a word- _ma_. Emptiness,” Chiyoh said, then, setting her glass down. She rose her delicate and beautiful hands, clapping in slow staccato. “The space between my hands clapping- do you hear the silence? The pause between one breath and the next- that is _ma_. And that, too, is what this place will continue to be. My door will not close. When you feel yourselves in need of pause, this is where I will always be.”

* * *

 

After a week of draught, it had started to thunder during their dinner, a soft downpour cooling and strong over the sea. Hannibal and Will’s possessions were scant but suffice, two duffle bags poised expectantly by their bedroom door. By sun-fall tomorrow, they would be long-gone and far away. 

Chiyoh leaned against the doorframe of the house’s backdoor, arms crossed easily over her chest. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you return,” she promised Hannibal and Will as they stepped outside of the house for the first time in what felt like an eternity.  She waved when they turned, off on a night walk.

They walked together in some silence, the wind-chill just enough to cool them from the work of what was swiftly becoming a hike. They warned each other away from quagmires, taking turns leading the other through the darkness. Their flashlights shone against navy darkness, stars glittering overhead.

“When we get to Buenos Aires, I’m taking in the sun,” Will told Hannibal, watching how he walked uphill through an array of rocks so that he could follow his exact movements. His rain-boots squeaked, thankfully firm over still-damp ground.  “I’m sick of being indoors. I’m tired of all this grey.”

“It’s summer there,” Hannibal explained. “At the time of the year, the daytime hours are typically heavy with dry heat.  You’ll have to curb your enthusiasm, Will, if only for a little while- small bouts of sunshine and plenty of water.”

“How hot will it be?”

Hannibal turned to Will, then, extending his hand so that Will could hold onto him firmly, stepping up over a particularly high rock carefully. They kept that way, hands locked and fingers intertwined, walking easily through what seemed to be a grassy plateau. “Typically, anywhere from 85° to 100° from what I understand.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Will laughed then, offering his feet a downcast grin, “are we really sure about Argentina? Ought to rethink it, maybe.” 

Hannibal sniffed the air wordlessly, his smile apparent even in the darkness. They had both taken to a sort of careless ease, a tendency to smile more. These days, they had drunk deep of a constant intimacy and, between their feverish want for one another, had enjoyed a quiet closeness. Will had learned more about Hannibal in that time; he discovered that Hannibal shivered when bitten along his earlobe and that he looked younger when he laughed. Will learned he would slip into Lithuanian only when taken to the absolute point of overstimulation. Will learned Hannibal liked to bend to Will just as much as he liked to take him and that he especially loved it when Will bit into his collarbone or kissed affectionately at his hands.

 They would have time, Will realized, all the time in the world to memorize every each of one another and uncover, too, every secret buried in history, muscle, and blood.

 “How much further still?” Will asked then, running his free hand along his face. A light mist had dampened his cheeks and droplets hung unceremoniously to the curls of his hair.

“We’re nearly there.” 

The two men made one last upward stride onto the flatland top of the hill. Clouds parted from above to reveal the light of the full moon. The pair looked to its white face, its significance hanging heavily between them. Will looked outward to the horizon, realizing their height. They had climbed to the highest point of the isle, the small town glowing sleepily below. The wind blew against his face with a chilly groan.

“What would you do if they caught us?” Will whispered then. “I know you won’t stop. When we get to Argentina, you’ll do what you’ve always done, just quietly enough for no one to understand. What would you do if someone discovered us then?”

Hannibal let go of Will’s hand then, walking steadily towards a jutting mass of stone that they could both sit down on. Will felt the damp coolness of the stone through his clothing and sat closely against the man beside him, leaning into his solid warmth.

Hannibal took a long glance at the horizon, turning to Will after a moment’s thought. “I’d allow you to run, then, Will. I’d allow you to leave me only then. You and I would remain conjoined and I would find you, whatever the distance, in every room that the palace of mind shares with yours.”

“Whatever violence you partake in, you’ll expect me to do the same. You don’t want have me watch, you want me participate. Even now my hands are just as red as your own,” Will said, only realizing the gravity of the truth as he spoke it. “I won’t run, Hannibal. I can’t. You’ve made sure of that. 

Will took in a breath, the cold filling his lungs. “You’ve made it so that separation feels like tearing off a limb. I have to stay beside you, or else it’ll feel as though I’ve filled my lungs with water again.”

In the dimming, waning light, Hannibal turned to him all the more, putting his hand to Will’s cheek, his thumb running delicately at the scar. “Achilles and Patroclus had their ashes mixed upon their deaths, intertwined in a common tomb- Tell me, Will, if I am not caught and I am killed instead, would your bones follow mine?”

Will frowned, turning to Hannibal’s touch before closing the space between them to kiss him. It was a sweet kiss, a deep one, a touch of their lips concentrated with meaning. When he pulled away, their faces were wet with mist and salt-water. 

“You won’t be taken from me,” Will whispered decidedly. “Neither of us would allow it. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Everything that’s yours is mine now, Hannibal- your crimes are mine. Your guilt is my own. Do you remember the cliff, the blood black under the moonlight?

“Every day,” Hannibal spoke hoarsely, bending to kiss Will face, lips to his cheeks, his brow, the bridge of his nose- _everything_ , Hannibal thought, _everything about him is beautiful and sharp_.

The sky rumbled above as clouds begun to prowl hungrily around the perfect disk of the moon. Will gave the light a last lingering gaze, watching as it allowed itself to be consumed, melting into the black. “We’ll always return to that cliff, Hannibal- when you tempt me to kill, when I resent you for the beauty of it, when you kiss me for the bitterness," he said. "We’re inevitable.”

* * *

 

Hannibal and Will returned to their room before the light of the sun, harboring the exhaustion of too much rain. They touched. They kissed. They undressed one another, ridding themselves of drenched clothing as if casting down armor, and they spoke one another's name like holy-words, feverish and low. When Chiyoh awoke hours later, their bags no longer sat by the door. The house creaked with their absence. With a hand to the wall, she padded silently through every room of her house like a labyrinth, stopping to admire vastly vacant spaces of her study, her kitchen, the dinning room. At last, she reached the guest room, _their_ room, and was unsurprised to find the room wiped of any trace of old company. Unsettled and already missing them, Chiyoh opened the glass windows, inviting in the sound of the sea. Over the distant crash of the waves, she felt their silence like a birdsong, its ending still unheard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the lateness, gang! Grad school is perpetually kicking my ass. We're at the end, my loves. I'm no good at endings. The story got away from me, so that the ending I once planned no longer fit these two and I had to do something else, instead. I hope what I've offered is satisfying. Please, if you can, tell me what you think. To each and every one of you, thank you for the kind words, the kudos, the visits and support- I would've never gotten this far without you all. Hit my up on my blog sometime (Marsza.tumblr.com) for murder husband rants and posts and maybe the occasional ficlet. Until next time, friends!
> 
> P.S. I am very bitter that I had to follow the canon and bring them to Argentina. My home-country of Uruguay, right across the waters from Buenos Aires, is so infinitely the better choice! I'm only playing. Hannibal and Will love Argentina. The carne asada is right up their alley and they adopt a stay dog that their neighbors' daughter playfully named Sefi. You know, in allusion to Encephalitis. Thanks for the pet name, Mads.


End file.
